Mudbloods of the Death Eaters
by JellyBellys
Summary: Theodore Nott has always been the overlooked Slytherin until he is forced into joining the Death Eaters by his elderly father. Now, with the new rewards Voldemort has given his followers, captured Mudbloods, he is in over his head with Hermione Granger.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N I obviously don't own anything that JK Rowling does. Only my own demented brain. **

**Full Summary:**Theodore Nott has always been the overlooked Slytherin. Overshadowed by the goonish Crabbe and Goyle, the snotty Draco Malfoy, the charismatic Montague, the forbidding Flint, and the shrill Pansy Parkinson, he has always managed to slip under people's radars. At the urging of his elderly father, Theo joins the Death Eaters in his sixth year, along with a group of his Slytherin acquaintances. Now all he has to do is keep his head down and do what he does best; be ignored. It should be easy, right? Wrong. The Dark Lord has implemented a new reward system for his followers: captured Mudbloods. And Gryffindors Hermione Granger, Katie Bell, and Slytherin's own Tracey Davis are among them.**  
**

**Chapter One: In which Pansy Parkinson is no longer underestimated**

"Bellatrix said new Mudbloods are coming in tonight," Pansy said smugly, sweeping her black bob from her face.

The other boys perked up, while Theo rolled his eyes. Only Pansy could get away with calling her Bellatrix. It was "Lady Bellatrix," or "Mrs. Lestrange" or "Ma'am" or "Sir" (mistakenly squeaked out in terror) for the rest of them.

Pansy was the only female Death Eater besides Mrs. Lestrange herself, and that, plus a certain behavioral resemblance, had quickly made her Bellatrix's protégé. Pansy had become so full of herself lately even Draco, the King-of-Self-Absorption, had noticed.

Aidan Montague shot him a bored look from the couch. He was the only one besides Theo himself that looked less than enraptured at Pansy's news. Then again, Aidan almost always looked that way. Theo's look of contempt was under lied by a strange sinking feeling in his stomach. This had nothing, he hastened to assure himself, with concern or something ridiculous like that for the bloody Mudbloods, but everything to do with his dinner, which apparently hadn't agreed with him.

_Are you sure about that Nott?_ The blasted voice, the one that had seemingly quadrupled in volume upon the night he had received the Dark Mark, whispered cruelly_. Sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you might be thinking a little differently about Muggles?_

**Shut up!** A second voice, his father's voice, hissed back. **I think nothing of the sort. Muggles are foul, stupid creatures that should never have polluted our race.**

_And how do you figure that, exactly?_ The evil voice asked, airily amused. _Certainly you, yourself, are a fouler, stupider creature than a Muggle could ever be, for following a psychopath like your master, hmm?_

Theo dug his nails into his palms and refused to listen to his thoughts any more. He forced himself to pay attention to the others.

"More Mudbloods, eh?" Draco drawled. Theo privately suspected Draco's voice was only able to communicate in either a disdainful drawl or a squeak of girly terror. "They better be an improvement on the last lot."

The last group of Mudbloods presented to the Death Eater faithful as trophies had been less than exciting: A few dumpy looking women, ranging from mid-twenties to their sixties, and three young men that had been claimed quickly by high-ranking Death Eaters with penchants for boys.

Older Mudblood males were usually put to use doing extreme physical labor solely for the Death Eater's sadistic amusement, or else killed outright. The extremely unlucky ones were used as training devices for younger/incompetent Death Eaters, and for testing new innovations in curses and potions.

The women were offered to the Death Eaters as toys; the toy usage depending on personal preference. Though they had been less than attractive, they had all been originally taken by a Death Eater, even the oldest woman who had wrinkles and white streaked throughout her hair. She was the first to outlast her welcome. Rookwood had given her back to the rest of them, and after Avery had taken her for a few days, she was shunted back up for grabs. This time, there were no takers, and some of the men had enjoyed a rousing game of "torture the Mudblood to death" that night. Theo had stumbled back to the edge of the forest outside of the castle where they had gathered and puked for some time after that memorable occasion. Aidan had joined him after a few minutes, a faraway look in his dark blue eyes.

"She worked for St. Mungo's. One of the head Healers," he had said simply.

Theo had not shown up the nights they had disposed of the other Mudbloods after they had served their purposes. He wasn't the only one, he knew the Dark Lord was almost never at these sick celebrations in the forest surrounding their hideout, and neither was that strange, balding man with the silver hand. Flobberworm, or Inchworm, or Wormtoungue or something-or-other was his name. Only one woman and one man of the original group of Mudbloods were still alive.

Aidan went sometimes, mainly to ingratiate himself in with the higher ranks of Death Eaters. Theo's father, an older, stooping man, was rarely seen at the revelries either. Pansy didn't miss a single one.

Theo, of course, was not aware of the identities of all of his fellow Death Eaters. Before, in the first war, he knew it was all much more secretive, the masks were always worn, names were not used. But the Dark Lord had grown arrogant. Well, even more so than he usually was. They still attended meetings hooded, but most of their faces were unmasked. It was unnecessary to hide many of them; the ten who had broken out of Azkaban, Inchworm, and the men who had spent a brief sojourn in Azkaban at the end of his fifth year, were already revealed as Voldemort supporters. After months of successful attacks, vicious blows to the magical community, and the ranks swelling into the hundreds, secrecy was not a cause for concern. There were a few, still, who always wore their masks, never spoke, and never were directly addressed, that stood off to the side of every meeting of the Dark Lord's. These men, Pansy had informed the rest of the new recruits, (with an amount of self-importance so large she was in danger of floating away from the hot air filling her enormous head) were spies for their cause. Obviously very few were aware of who they were, although Theo, Aidan, Pansy, Draco, and the others who had recently graduated from Hogwarts (or should've still been attending,) knew the identity of the spy's leader; Professor Snape. Snape, as Draco had told them, was one of the higher Death Eaters as well as his own father, Lucius.

The Ministry was in disarray, the Dark Lord had given no reprieve when Fudge finally had admitted Voldemort was back. So the average family was unprepared and easily overpowered when he had come calling at their homes. Hundreds had died already, many more blackmailed, brainwashed, or persuaded to join him. This was the environment that Theo joined the Death Eaters in, just over three weeks ago, halfway into his Sixth year at Hogwarts.

He already regretted it. It was a stupid, rash decision, and he knew it would cost him his life in the end. It was easy to know that sort of thing, but much harder, as a seventeen year old boy, to accept it. And he didn't think he was the only one. His group of Death Eater buddies, the ones who had been initiated either with him or right before or right after him, were all ranked around the same in the hierarchy. It was an unspoken hierarchy, but one that was made obvious almost immediately upon joining. While his group was not quite the dregs of the Death Eaters, they were uncomfortably close to being so. The only reason they weren't considered the lowest, was their connections.

Vincent, Greg, Draco and Theo all had fathers already in service. Pansy was Bellatrix's special favorite. Marcus Flint, Terence Higgs, Aidan, Bole, Warrington, and Derrick were all friends of Draco's at Hogwarts, pureblood Slytherins, whose fathers were, if not actual members, secretly helping to financially back the eradication of Muggle blood from their world. Theo knew he owed his current position in the order to his father, and, unfortunately, Pansy. She was under the misguided impression that they were great friends. Not so; Theo just knew his enemies. Pansy wasn't quite an enemy, per se, just someone whose good side it was prudent to stay upon. She had informed him a few nights ago that she had named names to Bellatrix on those she thought were essential to their cause.

"And," she had said smugly, a smile twisting her pretty, yet deadly face, "I mentioned your name first off, Theo."

This had shocked him quite a bit. He was under the distinct impression that Pansy was Draco's little lapdog, and therefore considered him worthy of little notice or consideration. She had assured him otherwise.

"Draco?" her mouth laughed, but her eyes remained cold and unsmiling. "Why, thank you Theo, I suppose that was a compliment to my acting abilities." She had sat back on his couch, crossing her legs. Theo had the growing, horrifying suspicion that Pansy was attempting to seduce him. "Surely, you know Slytherin is the house of the ambitious and cunning," she said patronizingly.

Theo raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. He had learned long ago of the benefits of keeping quiet and letting others dig themselves into holes with their words.

"I kissed up to Draco when it suited me," she said carelessly. "Now it doesn't. Finally, someone recognizes me for my own talent, and not because I am Draco's girlfriend," she said with a sneer of disgust. She glared angrily at a pillow, apparently lost in her thoughts, petty as Theo figured they must be. "Draco is useless," she spat angrily. "The only reason he is even thought of as powerful is because of his father. But we know better, don't we Theo?" she smiled at him sideways, through her eyelashes.

Idly, Theo wondered when she had started wearing so much makeup.

"He pouts and he whines, he isn't even particularly intelligent, and worst of all, he is a coward. No, I told Bellatrix you were much more suitable to climb the ranks of the Dark Lord. Just think, Theo," she had leaned forward here, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something frightening he could not place, "what we could accomplish together."

"Pansy," Theo finally responded, after tearing away his eyes from the large expanse of pale flesh that had just appeared below Pansy's neck, "what, exactly, are you trying to do?"

Pansy smiled, and ran her tongue along her bottom lip. She had just opened her mouth to respond when Aidan had banged into Theo's room without so much as knocking. His dark eyes had flown between Theo and Pansy, taking the scene in rapidly, a smirk twisting his pale lips.

"I say, Pansy," he drawled, "isn't Draco going to be angry at you for shagging one of his best mates?"

Her mouth curved into a snarl, and she stood up in a flash.

"Jealous, Montague?" she bit out, her words a vindictive hiss. "After all, why would I want someone stupid enough to spend a week trapped in a toilet?"

The amusement dropped from Aidan's face instantly.

"I don't know, Pansy," he snapped, "why would I want someone stupid enough to get antlers stuck to her head?"

Theo barely managed to hold back a snicker when Pansy stormed towards the door in a towering rage. She turned in the doorway, a sickly smile back on her face. She ignored Aidan.

"We'll continue this conversation later, Theo," she had purred before leaving.

Theo was drawn from his reverie when Draco stood up, stretching.

"Well, we best get a move on so we're not late," he said bossily. "I want to get a good look at the merchandise before purchasing," he smirked, apparently highly impressed with his own sparkling wit. Crabbe, Goyle, Bole and Derrick chortled automatically.

Some of the older ex-Slytherin Quidditch players shot each other disgusted looks. Only Flint had the balls to keep Malfoy in line.

"Who says you even get any Mudbloods, Malfoy?" he said in his low, gravelly voice. "I thought you had to actually earn the Dark Lord's favor to win one. Something we all know you have failed to do."

They all laughed, including Pansy and Draco's minions. Draco looked slightly betrayed, but kept silent. He knew better than to mess with Flint. They all did, the man was enormous.

Their laughter abruptly cut off when every left arm in the group began burning. They all clutched reflexively at their stinging forearms, none of them were used to the sudden pain of the summons yet. Theo shoved his robes on, drawing the hood over his head and placing his mask into a fold inside his cloak alongside his wand. The others were doing similar last minute grooming, and Pansy was combing her fingers hurriedly through her short black hair. A series of pops sounded through the parlor they had been lounging in, as the group of young Death Eater recruits apparated away to their Master's side.

Theo reappeared instantly inside a large, circular, underground room. The walls were heavy stone, the floor bare and dark, like unpolished black stone. Torches mounted in brackets along the wall in intervals dimly lit the gloomy room. A large black velvet tapestry, embroided with shiny green thread depicting the Dark Mark hung from one part of the circular wall. There was exactly one door, set opposite from the tapestry, an iron affair with large deadbolts locking it shut. The low ceiling and large amount of cloaked wizards in the room made the atmosphere slightly claustrophobic.

All in all, Theo thought it was remarkably cliché. He was frankly astounded the Dark Lord had neglected the accompanying towering throne. The man (if he could be called a man) in question was standing in front of the tapestry, hands behind his back, staring around impassively at the gathering apparating before him.

It was unusual that the Dark Lord was meeting with them at all, he usually left assignments and morale boosting to his underlings. He put in the occasional appearance, but most of his time was spent behind the scenes, plotting and strategizing. Voldemort was always at the new recruit's initiation ceremonies, perhaps there were new people waiting to join that Theo and his friends were unaware of.

Aidan shifted next to him, nudging Theo forwards after Flint. They took their places in the outer circle. The inner circle was composed of twenty or so wizards (and witch) that were trusted by their Master above all others. They alone were unmasked and un-hooded. Bellatrix, of course, was the aforementioned witch, standing next to her husband Rodolphus, whose other side was flanked by his older brother Rabastan. Lucius Malfoy was there as well, along with Augustus Rookwood, Mulcibur, Rookwood, Jugson, Avery, Ringworm, Travers, four other wizards who had spent over ten years entombed in Azkaban, the senior versions of Crabbe and Goyle, and his own father, Thaddeus Nott, who had recently been promoted to the inner circle upon Macnair's death by the hands of Aurors.

The group of ten spies, the only figures both masked and hooded, were in a shadowy nook away from the circles. Their leader, a figure that was clearly recognizable as Snape from the black, glittering eyes, stood slightly ahead of them.

Theo's spot amongst the larger, outer circle, who wore their hoods up, was indicative of his standing amongst the Death Eaters. While the inner circle stayed mostly stagnant, the outer circle was constantly being expanded and reorganized. Composed of over a hundred wizards (and Pansy as the one witch) they were the soldiers, the followers of their leaders. The spies dealt in stealth, the inner circle dealt in planning and commanding.

It was ingenious, really, the system the Dark Lord had. Not only did they all know exactly who had the most power, (and who had the least) among them, it was a strong motivational factor. A Death Eater with ambition, (which they almost all had) and who pleased their Lord with loyalty and hard work, moved upwards in both literal and figurative ways. The Dark Lord began to speak.

"All my Death Eaters are here, I see. Excellent. I have good news to report," Lord Voldemort spoke in a high, chilling voice, in a volume that was both quiet and carrying. "Three successful raids have been conducted against our opposition.. Bella managed to capture Elphias Doge, a member of the Order of the Phoenix," Voldemort gave her a rare approving look, "and he will be… questioned," here, a few Death Eaters snickered, "for information. I trust Lucius has given you your assignments for the next few days," they nodded their assent, "and I remain confident you will not fail me," A small shudder raced through the gathered wizards and witches at the veiled threat. "Wormtail," Voldemort snapped out.

_Wormtail!_ Theo thought, _that was his name_. A small, balding man with a pointed nose, watery eyes, and a silver hand hurried forward from his spot in the inner circle, and stood by the Dark Lord's side.

"Wormtail will take over for me once I have finished drilling it into your thick skulls what I expect of you," he said coldly. Theo looked sideways at Aidan, who seemed just as startled by this declaration as he. The other Death Eaters were shifting nervously, and would have been murmering their bewilderment if they had dared.

"I'm sure everyone has heard about the new group of captured Mudbloods that have arrived for your sport," the Dark Lord continued, unfazed. "Do not take for granted my gifts," his red eyes roamed over the crowd of his followers. "The rest of you who are not named, work harder and you will have first choice of the spoils," the Dark Lord managed to make even this sound like a threat. "I can take away any Mudblood, for any reason, at any time. Do not question why."

Theo privately wondered who would be insane enough to do so, briefly considered Bellatrix, who was notoriously crazy, then rejected her as too fanatical to question motives.

"If any of my Death Eaters," here, the Dark Lord paused, made deliberate eye contact with the inner circle, and continued, "**_any_** of my Death Eaters displeases me, expect to meet me in chamber six tomorrow evening."

The flinching of the group assembled was far more obvious this time. Chamber Six was the stuff of nightmares, a place spoken of in hushed whispers, where few emerged from alive. "Wormtail will now proceed," the Dark Lord intoned, "good evening."

He apparated away after his customary, cordial dismissal, and the small man known as Wormtail stepped forward.

**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: In which Draco is useless**

Theo crouched behind a rosebush as spells whizzed dangerously close overhead. He fired off a "stupefy" at a large Auror with a bald head and gold hoop earrings. The auror ducked out of the way just in time, and flung a jinx in retaliation. Chunks of blasted brick rained down on his head, and Theo inched further away from his adversary.

Great. This was bloody **_perfect_**. His group's first assignment that wasn't completely routine, their first mission that showed the Dark Lord actually had some faith in them, and they had botched it up royally.

Well, to be fair, _Theo_ hadn't botched it up royally, Draco had been put in charge (largely from the influence of Lucius Malfoy, as was to be expected.) The two of them, along with Vince Crabbe, Derrick, Flint, and Aidan had been assigned their first mission with importance; a reconnaissance mission of a mixed-blooded family (Muggle-born mother, pureblooded father, and two half-blood children) supporters of Dumbledore.

It had gone off without a hitch at first, Theo and Crabbe had apparated ahead of time to the home to make sure the target's were there, than had apparated back to headquarters, reporting the exact location of each member of the Boot family. (Excepting of course Terry, the eldest, who was a sixth year same as Theodore and currently safe at Hogwarts.)

Then, the rest of the squad had donned their masks, raised their hoods, and they had all apparated away together to the outside of the Boot home. Anti-apparition wards prevented them from appearing directly inside the house.

Silently, they had surrounded the perimeter, after Draco had given whispered instructions to each boy; Malfoy took the father, Clarence, for himself, his wife Julie was Flint's responsibility, Aidan had the ten-year-old son Jimmy, and Theo was supposed to subdue Laura, the eight-year-old.

Derrick and Crabbe were shunted aside, even Malfoy wasn't fool enough to count on their hexes and limited brain power, and were told to find the research Julie Boot had collected with her experiments on giants.

Invaluable research that the Order of the Phoenix could use to their great advantage, swaying the dim-witted, but powerful giants to their side and away from Voldemort. It was imperative the documents be taken, shown to the Dark Lord, than destroyed. It was not as if Crabbe and Derrick were expected to find the documents, but it would keep them busy and out of the way. No, Draco was convinced the documents would be found only after the Boots were persuaded to be helpful.

As Theo retreated further into his sanctuary, only missing being hexed when he tripped backwards over Crabbe's unconscious body, falling to the ground with a jet of orange light whizzing much too closely overhead, he gritted his teeth in annoyance.

Why couldn't he have been placed in a different group? Even _Pansy's_ group would've been better, and _Warrington_ was leading that one, for Merlin's sake. Along with Pansy, Goyle, Higgs, and Bole had also been in that group, who had a similar mission of their own. But no, he** HAD** to have been stuck with Malfoy, whom as soon as his leadership ability was brought to the test, with all four members of the Boot family bound and gagged, each in the grip of a Death Eater, each with a wand turned solely on them, had bungled things immediately.

"Tell us where the research is, and we might let the half-blood brats live," Draco had snarled at Mr. Boot.

"But, uh, Draco," Crabbe had stuttered, looking up from his perusal of a nearby desk, "I thought we were supposed to kill them all?"

"Shut **UP**, Crabbe," Draco had hissed back through his angry lockjaw.

"You're not supposed to say my name!" Crabbe had wailed, horrified.

"Well, you said mine first, and you're not supposed to say my name either!" Draco had retorted, sounding like a petulant three-year-old.

"We're supposed to be asking _her, _anyway, you pillock," Flint interrupted in his gravelly voice, poking Mrs. Boot in the neck with his wand.

"Oh… oh… right," Draco stammered, smoothing his shellacked helmet of hair unnecessarily.

"So… er, same question," he gestured to Mrs. Boot.

"She's got a gag in, you bloody moron," Aidan spat, his arm around the young boy's neck.

"Mind your attitude, Montague," Draco yelped in outrage. He wasn't nearly as intimidated of Aidan as he was of Marcus Flint, whose size, (and conscience, for that matter,) could be likened to that of a troll.

"Would you _hurry it up;_ the Aurors could be here any time!" Montague had snapped impatiently.

"How **DARE **you speak to **_me_**, Lucius Malfoy's son—" Draco began in outrage, before being interrupted.

"Enough of this!" Marcus barked, then swung his wand around to face Draco, and yelled "Stupefy!"

The blond twit hit the carpet with a muffled thud. The Boots' eyes were now trained on the far more threatening Flint.

"You," he snapped at Crabbe, his wand pointing at the large boy, "stay quiet, or you get the same," he gestured at Malfoy's crumpled form. "Get over here and take that poof's place," Marcus barked at Derrick.

Derrick immediately complied, turning his wand, and his meaty forearms, on Mr. Boot's throat.

"There's no use screaming," Flint said warningly to the frightened family, "no one will hear you, with our wards up. And if you give us all a needless headache with your wailing, we might get careless with our wands, y'understand?" he said harshly, eyeing each scared face. They nodded. "Good," he growled, and turned to his fellow Death Eaters.

It was almost as if they were back at Hogwarts again, thought Theo detachedly, and Flint was captaining an unruly bunch of teenage boys at Quidditch. The others already listened to Flint's every command by habit, and he himself was the only one not used to taking orders from Marcus. Well, and Crabbe, but he was used to taking orders from everyone.

"Take out their gags," Flint commanded, and followed his own order on Julie Boot.

Immediately, Mrs. Boot turned to Flint.

"I don't know what you're after," she said, with false bravado, "but we've got nothing you want here."

Silent tears were pouring down Jimmy and Laura Boot's faces, the latter whom was hiccupping slightly, and Clarence Boot looked blank.

"Let's not play games," Flint said roughly. "You and I both know what we want. We also know not one of you is going to wake up tomorrow, or the day after. You might think we are as stupid and useless as this sod here," he kicked Malfoy's limp body, "but you're dead wrong. We will do everything and anything to get those papers," he said, shoving his face close to Mrs. Boot, "we will not stop till we get them. And we won't hurt you, oh no, we're going to hurt your brats."

Theo felt an unpleasant lurch in his stomach. They were going to _what?_ Their orders had been to retrieve research, not have a Death Eater free-for-all! He shifted uneasily. Laura Boot looked up at him with her huge, wet brown eyes, seeming to detect weakness. Clad in a pink lace nightgown, her hair in two braids, she could be the spokes model of adorable little girls. Her lower lip quivered, her shining eyes begging Theo to save her, to be her shining knight-in-armour. He hastily swallowed, his mouth bone dry, and looked away back at Flint. A strange buzzing was filling his ears as he listened to Flint continue to threaten Julie Boot.

"We're going to make them scream before we kill them," Flint said, his voice barely above a whisper. Julie Boot was making an admirable attempt to remain stoic, and only somewhat succeeding, her eyes darting sideways quickly to her terrified children, before looking back at the looming Death Eater in front of her.

"First," Flint mercilessly continued, "we're going to pull off every single toenail, every single fingernail, one-by-one," Jimmy gave a choked sob. "Next, we're going to start breaking everyone of those limbs, a little at a time. My friend here, holding your son," he grinned behind his mask at Montague, "is an expert healer. He'll fix those bones, and we'll break 'em again. Then we'll start cutting 'em with a knife," Flint pulled out a rusty blade from his robes, and little Laura Boot's hands gripped Theo's encircling arm.

Clarence Boot seemed to be coming out from his fog, and his mouth was hanging open, his eyes widening comically large at Flint's words.

"Maybe," Flint continued relentlessly, "throw in a Crucio or two while we're at it. We'll take hours. And finally, when they can barely scream anymore, you'll give in and give us the papers. And we'll put 'em out of their misery. Or," Flint said, his voice returning to a normal pitch, "you tell us now, there's no misery to be had for the little snot-noses, and we kill 'em quick and painlessly. Your choice, it's up to you, you're the one that popped 'em out, eh?" Flint's eyes glinted malevolently through his eyeholes. "What d'you say, kiddies? What should good 'ole Mum do?"

"How can we even trust anything you say?" Jimmy piped up bravely in his little boy voice. "What's to stop you from taking the papers then hurting us anyway?"

"That's a very good question, little boy," Flint said mock thoughtfully. "But we're not monsters, are we lads?" he seemed to expect an answer, so the boys murmured that no, they were certainly not monsters. "We don't WANT to hurt you and your sister, but your mum might make us, you see? It's all up to her."

"It's in the closet in Terry's room," Clarence Boot said unexpectedly, " the room upstairs, and to the right, up on the top shelf, disguised as his old homework."

"Clarence!" Julie Boot hissed in outrage.

"That was very smart of you, Mudblood," Flint said graciously, "very smart." He snapped his fingers at Crabbe. "Go find 'em." He barked, as if Crabbe was his dog he was ordering to fetch. Crabbe lumbered off upstairs obediently.

"See kids?" Flint said genially, "your dad loves you. Your mum is a right bitch though, isn't she? Marries filth, and she doesn't even know her place," he pointed his wand and casted Crucio on Mrs. Boot before any of them could blink an eye.

The kids screamed, trying to get away, out of the arms of their attackers, and Mr. Boot yelled his wife's name hoarsely and attempted to kick Derrick in the groin. Julie was screaming and writhing on the floor, flopping like a fish, knocking into the coffee table, sending trinkets crashing to the floor.

Thank Merlin Theo only had a little girl, because Laura Boot was putting up a hell of a fight against him as it was. She bit his arm, scratched his hands, stomped on his feet, and twisted her body around so violently, that he ended up holding her squirming form in mid-air as it tried to kick him.

Crabbe reappeared, a dazed look in his eyes as he took in the scene before him; Flint gleefully torturing the mother, Draco still unconscious, and the other three wrestling with their rabid prisoners. Flint lifted the curse, gave the woman a moment's rest, and then vindictively cast it again. While none of them had problems letting Draco know where he was going wrong, Flint was a different matter entirely. They were all too aware of his punishments for bad Quidditch playing, all of them except—

"Marcus!" Theo called over the woman's screams.

He wasn't even aware he was going to say a word until he heard the exclamation, and realized with astonishment he was the only one in his vicinity, and must have said it himself. Flint gave him no acknowledgement.

"Goddammit, Flint!" he yelled. "What in Salazar's name are you doing? Are you trying to get us thrown into Azkaban?"

Flint lifted the curse, and turned slowly to Theo. Theo realized he had made a huge mistake when even Aidan wouldn't meet his eye. Mrs. Boot sobbed in a ball on the floor.

"What was that, Nott?" Flint asked softly, deceptively.

Aidan shook his head warningly at Theo behind Flint's back.

Theo cleared his throat, and said croakily, "I said," he cleared his throat again, "I said, shouldn't we be checking those papers and leaving? What if the Aurors are on their way?" he gained a little courage. "And you're exciting the rest of them, we can barely hold on to them."

Flint stared at him a moment in silence, which was broken by Malfoy moaning on the floor. Which was then broken by Flint's boot to his head.

"Draco!" Crabbe yelled in horror from his perch on the staircase.

Malfoy's white blonde hair was turning a sinister red.

"Oh, who gives a damn about that sodding wanker!" Flint said in exasperation. "I would kill him if I could. Wouldn't _you_ do the same?" he demanded. Aidan and Derrick snickered.

"No!" Crabbe replied, scandalized. He leapt down the stairs two at a time to get to his friend.

"I wasn't talking to you, Crabbe," Flint said, annoyed. "I know all about your shrine to Malfoy."

Even Theo couldn't help snickering at that one.

"So, you can't handle one little girl, eh Nott?" Flint mocked. "Don't worry; I'll wear her out for you." He pointed his wand at Laura Boot, who gave a whimper of horror. The two Boots left standing both screamed incomprehensibly at Flint.

"Crucio!" Marcus bellowed at the little girl. She screamed once, than fell to the ground in a limp heap.

"What the fuck?" Flint wondered, until they all noticed Aidan had his wand out.

"Theo's right. You're wasting time," he said calmly. He again cast the killing curse, now killing Jimmy Boot instantly.

"Well, hold on now, save one for me!" Flint said grudgingly.

Derrick and Montague laughed again, but Theo could do nothing but stare at the glassy eyed form of Laura Boot, who had tears wetting her still face. Clarence Boot was doing his best to get away from Derrick and throttle whomever he could.

Flint aimed the killing curse at Clarence, and missed when Julie Boot, forgotten on the floor, kicked him hard in his leg, upsetting his aim. He hit Derrick instead.

"You bloody **BITCH**!" Flint screamed so hard spittle flew from his mouth, a vein popping in his neck. He sent the green light of "Avada Kedavra" to Clarence Boot a second time; this time hitting his mark, then lunged at Julie Boot, his knife swinging upward.

It was at this precise moment, when things were looking decidedly ugly, that the situation went from bad to horribly, horribly, worse.

With a sizzling crackle, their wards were snapped. The door burst open, emitting three Aurors. A window burst, showering Theo and Laura Boot's corpse with shards of glass, and another Auror leapt through. Theo instinctively ducked behind a nearby chair, aiming his wand and casting jinxes. He hit the closest Auror, who went down with a thump, stupefied immobile. A second Auror with short gray hair blasted at his hiding place, ripping the chair in two. Theo rolled away in a hurry, next to Aidan who had crouched behind a heavy oak bookshelf.

"Hello, Theodore," Aidan said. "This is a great bloody mess, isn't it?"

Theo was tempted to reply that yes, it surely was, considering Flint had managed to stab Mrs. Boot a few times with the knife before he was aware of the more imminent problem of the highly trained Aurors attempting to neutralize him, and now the carpet was sopping in sticky red pools, but he refrained. Two more Aurors burst into the fight from the kitchen, and now they were outnumbered.

Flint was savagely casting the nastiest hexes he could think of at every Auror in the room, his wand flashing and swooping with lighting speed. Crabbe was attempting to drag Draco's limp body out of harm's way.

They were younger, they were inexperienced, but the Death Eaters had the advantage. They were willing to use dark curses and Unforgivables, and the Aurors were not. Flint demonstrated this with a Killing curse he blasted at the gray haired auror, hitting him square in the chest. A stunner to the face was what he received, crashing to the floor in the blood.

There were four aurors still fighting, versus Theo, Aidan, and Crabbe, who was virtually useless next to Draco.

"Reducto!" Theo yelled, aiming at the table a blonde female auror was hiding behind. Unfortunately for her partner, this was the exact moment he had chosen to make a lunge at the two Death Eaters, and was hit instead. The woman, and one of the two remaining aurors screamed when the man was blasted into pieces. Blood, bone, and bits of skin, hair, and organs splattered all over the Boot's formerly clean living room. The woman had to wipe her partner's remains out of her face; she was unable to see. Aidan spotted this, and petrified her. Now they were left with a short, plump man and a tall, black man with a bald head.

Crabbe was hit and fell next to Draco. The two aurors left were crouched behind a couch, dueling them fiercely. It was a standstill; back and forth they cast hexes, shields, deflecting jinxes and curses. Aidan was the older one, a better fighter with a more extensive repertoire of spells, so Theo played backup.

Mrs. Boot moaned, startling the aurors, and causing the short man to lose his concentration, and subsequently to be blasted across the room, his head hitting the wall with a crack.

The next thing Theo knew, Aidan slumped to the floor next to him, unconscious. It was just him now. An odd fuzziness had enveloped Theo since Flint had started torturing, an odd fuzziness which had only become a numb clarity when he had accidentally splattered that auror's insides all over his former classmates' home. So it was with a mechanized mind that Theo stood up, jumped through the nearest window, slashing himself thoroughly with glass, and landed outside. He had barely any time for cover before the auror leapt through the jagged glass remaining in the window after him. Theo spent the next few minutes ducking, rolling, and generally hiding from his opponent, who far outmatched him. He was starting to panic, his breath becoming more and more ragged, his robes becoming increasingly torn and bloodied. Noises started back up from inside, a fight. Apparently some of the stupefied had awoken. Theo could only hope someone would find him and help him.

The world has a funny sense of humor, Theo thought, as Crabbe lumbered outside, dragging Draco. Although he supposed it was an improvement to have the two of them out of doors and out of the reach of the anti-apparition wards, even though Crabbe had just flopped to the ground yet again when the gold-hooped auror felled him. Theo ducked behind a rosebush, and here the story catches up with him, after first he misses being hexed, ducks falling brick, and trips over Crabbe.

If it was just him, he could easily apparate away to safety. But he couldn't leave the others behind, no matter how dimwitted Crabbe was, or how crazy Flint was, or how much Draco irritated him with his pompous airs.

Suddenly, Montague and Flint staggered outside, both bloody, and managed to topple a small tree onto Theo's auror, knocking him out.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," Montague said roughly, his voice weary.

Flint limped over, and hauled Crabbe upright. Montague grabbed Malfoy, who was both petite and slender. The locked eyes with Theo, and they all apparated away.

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**A/N** **I obviously don't own HP. Thanks to my lovely readers and my fabulous reviewers; _marauder no. 5_ and _roxythewriter._  
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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **If I owned HP, would I have cut Christian Coulson from the HBP movie? Answer: Hell to the NO.

**A/N: **So, so sorry this has taken me so long, but the next chapter is already entirely written, and chapter five is about half done, so don't expect too long of a wait. Thanks to all my reviewers, you are my inspiration to keep writing. Please review it makes me very happy. This chapter is kind of boring, but I really like the next one, so... ;o)

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**Chapter Three:**** In which the Lestranges are terrifying**

They hadn't even had time to catch their breath before the inner circle had swooped upon them. Lucius Malfoy had gotten one glimpse of Draco's bloody head, at his unconscious form, before Antonin Dolohov and Augustus Rookwood had had to restrain him from attacking the rest of them.

Before they'd been able to get a word out (it did, after all, look dire: two unconscious members of the team, one missing, and the rest covered in blood, cuts, burns and various other marks left from a battle) the Lestrange brothers had grabbed them and removed their memories of the raid into a penseive Theo's father was holding. Dolohov and Rookwood had dragged Malfoy Senior off after the Lestranges and Thaddeus left, and the healer Death Eaters had taken Draco and Vince, leaving two behind to make sure Theo, Montague, and Flint were alright.

It was undoubtedly frustrating for the healers; they could see the wounds and could not ask them any questions. After all, they would not know the answers. All Theo could remember was a distinct feeling of dread, an uneasy, squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach that indicated they were all in deep shite. But why...? What had happened on their raid? Where was Derrick? There wasn't much time to dwell on it before a series of pops next to them heralded the arrival of another raid group: Warrington's team.

If it was possible, they were in even worse shape than Theo's group. (Except, as far as he could tell, no one was missing.) Warrington was leaning on Higgs, both boys covered in various welts, scrapes, cuts, and burns. Warrington had a huge gash in his forehead that was bleeding heavily into his eyes, unchecked. Higgs's eyes were periodically shutting then snapping open as he fought to maintain consciousness, Goyle was out cold, and Bole was cradling a clearly broken arm. And Pansy…well, Pansy just looked furious. Bloody, but furious.

In fact—Theo squinted closer at her as another team of Death Eater Mediwizards surged over to the new arrivals—the blood didn't seem to be her own. There were no marks to indicate anything had happened to her.

Again the Lestrange brothers and Thaddeus Nott appeared with the pensieve, again the memories were extracted, and again the worst off, injury wise, were taken away by healers.

This left Flint, Montague, himself, and a spitting-mad Pansy. Not that she recalled _what _she was spitting mad about.

The four of them were patched and silent, either because they were outraged or brooding. Frustration was felt by all; frustration at their inability to ascertain exactly what had _happened_ in the last—Theo checked his watch and did a double take—two hours of their lives. Frustration on the Healers' part to be unable to help them properly. But more than any of that was the horrible, gnawing fear that plagued them.

_Something_ had gone very, very wrong. Draco and Crabbe looked to be on the verge of death, and even more ominously, Derrick was missing.

"Well, this is complete and utter bollocks," Pansy snapped, startling them all.

(One of the Healers had even shrieked aloud, before the scornful looks of his peers made him blush.)

"They take away our memories and expect us to just _sit_ here? While telling us _nothing_?" she demanded of no one in particular.

Flint was starting to scowl, his frightening features twisting more and more threateningly.

Theo felt a panicked urge to tell Pansy to shut her mouth before Flint did something. He didn't know _**what**_ Flint would do, or even in fact, _**why**_ he felt so unaccountably nervous around Marcus, but he had the distinct impression it had something to do with the blank parts of his memory. In fact, now that he looked at Flint…wasn't the amount of blood covering him disproportionate to his wounds…? Theo repressed a shudder.

"I'm not staying here a second longer," Pansy ranted on," it's going to take them hours to watch our memories, and I'm tired. I'm going to my chambers," she declared with such force that the weak protestations by the Healers were quelled with one hard look from her.

She turned to the three boys, her hands on her hips.

"Well?" she demanded. "Aren't you coming?"

Flint continued to glare, but acquiesced anyway. Theo and Aidan trailed behind the diminuative form of Pansy and the hulking form of Flint. Aidan caught Theo's arm before he could apparate away, the twin cracks of Flint's and Pansy's departures ringing in their ears.

"I'm following you to your room," Aidan said in a low voice.

(One characteristic shared by every Death Eater: paranoia. There wasn't a soul in sight.)

Theo nodded, and they apparated away to the fifth floor of the castle, right outside Theo's door. (Anti-apparation wards were in place for every bedroom to ensure privacy.) Theo pulled out his wand, unlocked his doors, and ushered Aidan inside.

Scarcely had the door shut and silencing charms put in place did Aidan turn to him.

"It was obviously Malfoy's fault," he sad, his eyes boring into Theo's intently. "He was leading us, and he was brought in unconscious. Derrick and Crabbe fucked up too," he added.

"Where do you think Derrick is?" Theo interrupted.

"I'm sure he's dead," Aidan said shortly.

Theo reeled a bit at that. Sure, he had had nasty, lingering suspicions that that was why their (dubious) friend was missing, but to have it said out loud like that….

"That's not important," Aidan continued roughly.

His eyes were blazing. Theo had never seen his friend so upset.

"The important thing is: did _**WE**_ fuck up?" Aidan said, fixing Theo with a shaken look. "I don't give a bloody flying fuck if Flint did, but what about us? What if the Dark Lord decides to make examples of us?"

The same monstrous thoughts that Theo had been contemplating had been spoken.

"I'm sure," Theo's voice cracked; he cleared his throat then continued, "I'm sure we will be given another chance, even if we did," he said unconvincingly.

"Oh sure, maybe _you_ will be," Montague said bitterly, "your father's in the inner circle, and Pansy wants you to be her little shag toy. But what about **me**?"

"Your father gives much to the cause," Theo attempted to reassure his friend.

"Only money," Aidan said, still more bitterly. "But you and I both know what the Dark Lord really wants and needs is manpower, and my father, and his brother, and my cousins were too cowardly to join. I'm sure I'd be perfect to be made an example of."

Theo frowned.

"You're not thinking straight," he said to Montague. "Killing you wouldn't scare them, it would make them angry. Angry people join the resistance."

Aidan visibly relaxed a fraction.

"You're right," he said, his mouth turning upwards in a tiny smile, "as always. Thank you, Theo."

Theo nodded. There was really nothing else to say. Now they had to wait for the inner circle to view their memories, and then be summoned. The two friends sat in silence. Words, and sleep, would no doubt evade both of them until then.

After an interminable silence, a knock echoed from the door, reverbrating through the room. Theo and Aidan sat motionless, locking eyes. Theo was quite sure the fear in his friend's eyes was mirrored in his own.

The knock sounded again, louder, and clearly impatient.

At some point, Theo lost control of his body and was astonished to find himself up and sliding back the deadbolts on the door, along with a muttered spell to render his locking charms useless.

Theo looked over his shoulder at Aidan, who was sitting in a chair, hunched forward. Holding his breath, he flung open the door.

The air whooshed out of his lungs when he recognized Pansy.

"What the bloody hell do _you_ want?" snapped Aidan, who had joined him at the door, from over Theo's shoulder.

Pansy looked equally annoyed.

"What are _you_ doing here, Montague? Don't you have your own room?"

Theo interceded before the two could start another round of their constant bickering.

"What is it, Pansy?" he asked neutrally.

"I was _hoping_ to find you alone," she snapped, glaring at Aidan.

"Well, obviously, Parkinson," Aidan interrupted. "Back for round two of Operation Seduce Nott?"

Pansy gave a small, undecipherable smile.

"No," she said quietly, "Bellatrix and Mr. Lestrange want to see him in my quarters immediately."

Aidan snorted his disbelief.

"And I wonder…will the two of you discover the _mysterious_ absence of the Lestranges once you get there? And a few hundred lit candles?" he jeered.

"You seem quite fixated on this theme, Montague," Pansy sneered, "one only wonders…is it because you want me, or is because you want Theodore?"

"How about because I don't want my best mate involved with a soul-sucking slag?" Aidan said ruthlessly, his eyes flashing.

Pansy stared at Montague a moment in silence, than laughed.

"There may be hope for you yet, Montague. You can come to my quarters as well. The Lestranges wanted to speak with you anyway."

"Why?" Theo interjected at last, his heart racing. "Why do they want to speak to us?"

"I don't know," Pansy said irritably. "They came to my room and said they wanted to speak to all of us who had gone on the raids."

"All of us?" repeated Aidan.

"No," stated Pansy, "only the three of us and Flint. They said they would deal with the rest of them afterwards." They all shuddered against their will.

"Well, best not to keep them waiting," Theo said, summoning every ounce of courage in his body. "Where is your room, Pansy?"

"Eighth floor, West wing, near the library," she declared.

Aidan and Theo stepped out of the room, Theo replacing the locking spells, and the three apparated away.

They had all apparated to different spots along the corridor; after all, "eighth floor, West wing near the library" covered quite an expanse of hallway. Pansy made an impatient gesture from up the corridor at the two of them, as they converged outside her door.

"Now, I know this concept is difficult for you to grasp, Montague, but _do_ try your hardest not to do anything stupid," she whispered harshly.

"Same to you," Aidan retorted rudely.

They went inside, Pansy and Aidan jostling each other and glaring, Theo trailing silently behind.

Theo blinked twice, before he confirmed to himself that no, he had not just wandered into a vat of grapes. Aidan made a disgusted noise at Pansy's choice in décor from in front of him, before falling silent at the figures on the chaise lounge.

Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange. Two of the Dark Lord's most powerful and influential members of the Death Eaters. Theo had so far managed to escape their attention until, unfortunately, now.

A large, hulking shape occupied a flouncy purple chair adjacent to the Lestranges. Anyone else would've looked ridiculous in that chair, but he was Marcus Flint. He defied convention. He, like Theo and Aidan, had not yet changed out of his blood-soaked tattered robes. Idly, Theo wondered if Flint was bleeding on Pansy's chair and if so, who would win in a battle between the two once Pansy noticed.

Pansy, of course, had changed to elegant robes of midnight blue, and not a strand of hair or a smudge of makeup was out of place.

"Come in and sit," Rodolphus Lestrange commanded in his harsh, hoarse voice.

In a moment of rare confidence, Thaddeus, Theo's father, had told him that the screaming in Azkaban must have don't that to Lestrange's voice; it had been smooth, even charming beforehand.

The three of them sat down on the paisley purple couch Lestrange had indicated, the one that was straight across from himself and his wife, and to the right of Flint.

Silence reigned. Theo squirmed on the couch as it drew on. Aidan shifted uncomfortably beside him. Even Pansy looked ruffled. Flint, of course, looked as blank as always.

"I suppose you are wondering why you're here," Lestrange said unexpectedly.

They jumped (Theo) started (Aidan) flinched (Pansy) and remained immobile (Flint) respectively. Lestrange was apparently waiting for one of them to answer. Theo proceeded to stare at Pansy's heinous purple rug so as to avoid eye contact.

"Yes, I know I am wondering, Mr. Lestrange," Pansy said finally. Her usually snotty tone was absent, and she seemed humble and respectful.

Theo could _feel_ Lestrange's gaze boring into him, and sure enough, when he looked up, Lestrange was eyeing them all beadily. Theo refused to look anywhere near Bellatrix. He didn't think Pansy would take kindly to him having a heart attack on her couch.

"Well," Lestrange said slowly in his raspy voice, drawing out the tension and then stopping.

_He's toying with us_, Theo thought suddenly. _He's enjoying this. He's making us suffer as much as possible. _

"What happened to Derrick?" Theo blurted out against his will.

This response seemed more to Lestrange's liking. He smiled, his eyes dead and his teeth bared.

"So one of you has some courage after all," he said, amused. "Tell me, are you all afraid of me?" They confirmed what was already obvious with four nodding heads. "Good," Lestrange said, and indeed, he seemed delighted. "I did not wish to speak well of a bunch of fools."

"Darling," Bellatrix said, finally breaking her silence, "the pensieve?"

"Ah, of course. Flint, bring it here, it's over there," he gestured to a table half hidden in shadow.

Theo knew what was coming and he didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified. The four junior Death Eaters drew their wands, and retrieved their memories. Instantaneously the raid came back to Theo, and he knew they were about to be killed. Aidan looked shell-shocked, Pansy looked furious, her lips pursed, and Flint looked alarmed. That, more than anything, fed Theo's fear.

The Lestranges laughed together at their reactions.

"We're not going to kill you little boys, so there is no need to be so afraid," Bellatrix said. "And there's no reason to be angry, Pansy dear, they will be dealt with."

"Dealt with?" Aidan burst out, his voice much higher pitched than usual.

"Not you three," Rodolphus said, rolling his eyes, "the others. In fact, we have brought you four here to commend you."

Theo's draw dropped against his will.

"We—meaning the Dark Lord's inner circle of course, have reviewed the memories of all eleven of you on the raid. Excepting Derrick, who's dead. No, no need to explain yourselves," Lestrange continued when Flint, Theo and Aidan had all opened their mouths, "you did the right thing to leave him behind. Our Lord is pleased. Pansy, of course," here he paused to look at her fondly, "acted far better a Death Eater than any of the rest of you. Yet if it had not been for you three, our Lord would not have received the data needed, and you all would have been captured or killed. We were very happy with your performance."

"Lucius was not pleased," Bellatrix interjected, her expression and tone indicating that this had amused her immensely. "He is fortunate," she continued, "that Draco is receiving far more lenient a treatment then he would've had he been the son of anyone else."

"He will not lead a raid again, of course," Rodolphus said. "We're putting you in charge of your team next raid, Montague. Nott and Flint will be your second in commands. Pansy, you will lead your team instead of Warrington next time. It was only the four of you that acted less than imbecilic. The rest of your teams will be dealt with accordingly. You may leave."

Theo rose, stunned. _They weren't in trouble? They were, in fact, being praised by some of the Dark Lord's most influential followers?_

"Pansy, go retrieve the others and bring them here," Rodolphus instructed.

After a sickly sweet "Yes, Mr. Lestrange," Pansy left the room, trailed by Flint, Aidan, then Theo.

"Oh, Theodore," Bellatrix said suddenly, when he was halfway out the door, "stay for a minute."

Theo looked at Aidan in alarm, but Bellatrix was already waving her wand to slam the door shut. Theo jumped back barely in time to avoid a broken nose. He turned slowly to face the Lestranges, as one would to their would-be executioners. They both looked amused. Theo was completely unaware if this was a good or a bad thing.

"Sit," Rodolphus gestured again.

He sat.

"We did not want to say this in front of the others," Rodolphus explained, "because they do not need to know what we are about to say."

He fixed Theo with a stern look, who nodded his understanding.

"We really wanted it to be you leading the raid, instead of Montague, but we were overruled." Rodolphus looked irritable. "While your father agreed with Bellatrix and I, I'm afraid the others all chose Montague instead."

"Ridiculous," Bellatrix muttered mutinously, that frightening gleam flashing momentarily in her eyes. "Absolutely absurd. If it had not been for you, the raid would've been a disaster. You kept your head, you challenged Flint when no one else would, and only you managed to avoid being knocked unconscious by the Aurors."

Rodolphus was nodding the whole time his wife was speaking. "We shall take the matter up with the Dark Lord, dearest," Rodolphus said firmly.

Theo almost threw up, but he managed not to visibly react.

"You will be second in command to Montague, but your real assignment is making sure Flint controls himself better."

Theo felt sure he could not possibly have heard Rodolphus correctly.

"The rest of them were too scared to speak out, so we are relying on you," Rodolphus finished, more than a slight threat to his voice. "That will be all, Theodore."

Theo rose again from the hideous paisley couch as removed from reality as if he were underwater. He had almost made it to the door for the second time, just one step away to (relative) freedom…

"Oh, and Theodore," Bellatrix's voice rang out clearly.

He cringed, slowly turning again to face the Lestranges.

"Don't think we did not notice your uneasiness about the raid. You were clearly uncomfortable with killing and death and carnage." Bellatrix was smiling a little, her teeth sharp and her eyes unamused. "We are overlooking this for now, you are young and it was your first real raid. Do not do it again."

Theo nodded. Even if he wanted to, there was absolutely nothing he could say.

It was his third time, already, as hard as it was to believe. The first two Mudblood giftings had been underwhelming, to say the least. Only around six Mudbloods each time, and those six only offered to the top tier of the inner circle. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had forgone choosing a Mudblood at the first offering, but the second time they had chosen a mousy looking young women. Theo had never seen her again. She was alive still, by all accounts, but she probably wished she wasn't. He tried not to think about what they made her do.

Theo's own father hadn't even been offered a chance at a Mudblood either time, so it was no wonder Theo's motley crew of comrades had never gotten their chance for the reward.

Sometimes, Theo wondered if his father would've taken a Mudblood if given the chance. He liked to pretend that he wouldn't, but he liked to pretend a lot of things that weren't true about his father.

It was the third time and Theo had already memorized the ceremony. Praise for the Dark Lord, rules for conduct with the Mudbloods, who was on the list for deserving Mudbloods, then the actual showing of the Mudbloods. They would be taken out in a line, their legs shackled together, and their hands shackled together as well.

Each Mudblood would be shoved forward into prominence, a Death Eater's wand poking into their lower back, and Wormtail would read off of his list information about each Mudblood. First basic things, their name, their age, occupation, and their house name (if they had gone to Hogwarts.)

Then, the more unsavory part, the part that made Theo's stomach churn and his skin crawl with revulsion. Physical attributes of the Mudbloods. Talents the Mudbloods had. Suggestions on how the Mudblood would be best used. It was like Wormtail was auctioning off horses to them. If horses were occasionally used as sex slaves, anyway.

Following that, more warnings about what would happen if they disobeyed their Lord's wishes. Finally, Wormtail would again read the names of those worthy of a Mudblood, yet this time he would call the names in a predetermined order. The first name was the Death Eater that had most pleased the Dark Lord, so they were rewarded first choice. Then Wormtail would read the second name, and so on and so forth, until there were no Mudbloods left.

Theo stood at attention as Wormtail began the familiar ceremony, Aidan at his side as always, Pansy on his other side, his mind wandering aimlessly. He snapped to attention abruptly about half way through the initial reading of the Death Eater names rewarded a Mudblood.

"Pansy Parkinson, Death Eater number 3-3-7-2," Wormtail read in his squeaky voice.

As one, every head of every Death Eater snapped to Pansy. It was almost comical. Less comical was the next name read.

"Aidan Montague, Death Eater number 1-6-8-1."

Aidan visibly stared in surprise at that, and he and Theo exchanged dumbfounded expressions. It wasn't only that Aidan had made the list; it was that this signaled his rise in the Death Eater ranks. A distant part of Theo's brain registered that he would no longer be standing near his friend when the Death Eaters gathered. Aidan would have moved to a more important spot.

His astonishment almost made him miss the next name entirely.

"Marcus Flint, Death Eater number 2-9-3-5."

Theo looked over at Flint, a few Death Eaters away to his left, but Flint's expression was completely unreadable.

"And last," Wormtail concluded, "Theodore Nott, Death Eater number 6-7-1-1."

Theo wondered if he was in the middle of a nightmarish dream. It Wormtail had not also read out their numbers, he would've surely convinced himself that he had heard the small man say _Thaddeus_ Nott. But the number clinched it.

While secrecy was all but extinct within the Death Eater ranks themselves, _outside_ of it the unknown Death Eaters identities were protected. Therefore, they were all assigned a completely random three or four digit number (the inner circle had three digits, while the outer circle had four) so they could be referred to in front of others without revealing their true identities.

This was imperative for the group of spies. They alone were never referred to as anything other than their numbers, even among the other Death Eaters; their real names were unknown. The numbers were random so that even if an Auror or just a lucky eyewitness who got away had heard it, there would be no pattern, no way of guessing who the Death Eater truly was. Not that there were many alive to report the numbers to the Ministry of Magic in the first place.

Theo was obscurely aware that Warrington, Bole, Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy and Higgs were all staring at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy smiling at him, her grin remarkably similar to that of a shark.

"Move to the front," Wormtail instructed; his voice thin.

Theo only got moving after Pansy linked her arm through his and dragged him forwards to where the other Death Eaters named had gathered. Still, Theo clung to the thought that he surely wouldn't get the _chance_ at a Mudblood. For one, more Death Eaters were always named then there were Mudbloods. This was twofold: there were Death Eaters who passed up their chance at a Mudblood, and it also informed the Death Eaters who was doing things right, even if they hadn't received a Mudblood as a reward.

So Theo figured he was one of the excess Death Eaters named as a backup. After all, the last two Mudblood giftings had had less than ten Mudbloods each time, and Wormtail had just named at least thirty of them. Besides, he **had** been named last. He reassured himself of these facts over and over, even when they brought out the most captured Mudbloods yet; sixteen. Pansy, Flint, Aidan, himself…they were all chosen to make sure enough backup Death Eaters were in place. And perhaps as a jab at the poor jobs done by Warrington and Malfoy.

Theo managed to convince himself of this all the way through Wormtail's readings of the Mudbloods uses and attributes, and all the way until they were eight Mudbloods in, and Wormtail read off the next ranked Death Eater.

"Number 3-3-7-2."

Pansy stepped forward. Theo's mouth went dry.

"Do you wish to accept a gift from our Lord?" Wormtail asked her, just as he had asked every chosen Death Eater at every Mudblood ceremony.

"Yes," Pansy replied, her voice ringing clear. "I claim that one."

She pointed at a young, good looking Mudblood that had graduated from Hogwarts—a Hufflepuff, Theo thought he remembered Wormtail saying—some years before.

Wormtail gestured at Jugson, who was in charge, along with Travers, of keeping the Mudbloods behaved. Jugson roughly grabbed the young man by the arm and dragged him over to Pansy.

He was tall and sandy haired, lean and absolutely terrified. Theo had always wondered how much the Mudbloods would talk, or scream, if they had not had Silencio cast on them.

"Mudblood," Wormtail said, attempting to sound threatening and failing as always, "you are now the property of Death Eater 3-3-7-2."

Jugson held the young man while Travers cast a spell on a steel band and fit it around the Mudblood's neck as his collar. Pansy's number had been etched into the band. Travers attached a chain to the collar and handed it over to Pansy, whose eyes were gleaming.

"Death Eaters," Wormtail said to them, just as he did every time a Mudblood was claimed, "Mudblood number twenty, Henry Dukes, is now the sole property of Death Eater 3-3-7-2. You will not touch or harm Mudblood number twenty in any way, unless given permission by Death Eater 3-3-7-2, or you will suffer the Dark Lord's wrath." Everyone in the room shuddered a little at that.

Pansy's part done, she yanked on her Mudblood's chain and led him back to her spot in the circle like a puppy. Poor Henry Dukes looked shell-shocked, Theo thought, before repressing his disloyal line of thinking. He tensed when Wormtail called the next Death Eater's name, his stomach clenching, and he breathed a small sigh of relief when the Death Eater was one of the spies. It was not Professor Snape, who had already been called second (not that Theo was supposed to know who he was) and had declined a Mudblood just like he did every other time.

As Wormtail went through the monotonous claiming ceremony again, Theo reasoned with himself some more. Sure, Pansy had been called, but hadn't the Lestranges had far more praise for her than for the rest of them? Besides, there were now only seven Mudbloods left, and almost twenty Death Eaters not yet called.

He kept repeating this over and over to himself, with increased confidence, when the next two Mudbloods were dispensed with, until he heard "Death Eater 6-7-1-1" again.

His blood ran cold. If he cut open a vein right now, he was sure it would be frozen solid. Everything slowed down to a snail's pace, as he stepped forward, looking wildly at the five Mudbloods left. They were all staring at him strangely, and it wasn't until later, when he was back in his room that he realized why.

They _wanted_ him to claim them. All of them did. Somehow, they saw in him a less horrifying master than any other Death Eater left, and they were silently begging him to choose them. Once he realized this, Theo came to regret his next decision.

"Do you wish to accept a gift from our Lord?" Wormtail asked him.

Theo frantically tried to remember what Snape had said. Wormtail stared at him expectantly. The Mudbloods still stared at him strangely. He could feel the inner circle's eyes on him.

"I am grateful for our Lord's generous offer, but at this time I will decline my gift," Theo croaked out in a jumbled rush, verbatim of Snape's response from every gifting.

Wormtail merely nodded and moved on to Aidan. Theo was too relieved to really register who it was that was now being offered a Mudblood, but when he did, a new idea occurred to him, which horrified him much more than his friend's current predicament.

He knew why he had been called over Flint, but why over Montague? Montague was to be raid leader next time. He was higher in command. Theo turned slowly to the inner circle, faintly aware that Montague was now repeating Theo's speech. He was right. The Lestranges were both starting at him, their expressions unreadable. Rodolphus gave a tiny nod, which Theo automatically returned.

"_We shall take the matter up with the Dark Lord, dearest,"_ echoed in his head in a loop.

He was going to throw up. There was no doubt that he was going to throw up, here, now, in the circle. _He was going to throw up_ and the Lestranges were still staring at him and they had already voiced their doubts about his mettle, and somehow, someway, Theo forced his expression into a painful smirk while he locked eyes with Malfoy, who had turned the color of a boiled ham. A boiled ham that was two seconds away from throwing a temper tantrum. He reached his spot next to Pansy and her Mudblood, still smirking in an excruciating manner, then faced front.

Dear Salazar, the Lestranges _were still staring at him._ Now, however, they were both smiling. Coldly, but that's the only way they did smile, and Theo smiled wider, afraid he might now look manic.

Aidan was returning, and his face had adopted a smirk of it's own as he stared at their fellow young Death Eaters. Only someone who knew Montague as well as Theo did would recognize his expression to be as fake as his own had been. They had done a dangerous thing, turning down the Dark Lord's gift when they were still essentially Junior Death Eaters, and now they had to convincingly play the part. None of these thoughts occurred to Theo at the time he was being offered a Mudblood, of course. He had simply had a knee jerk reaction of revulsion at the thought of owning another person—Mudblood, he sharply corrected himself, _Mudblood,_ and he had had the shrewd suspicion Montague's knee had jerked in the same way as his. Flint's knee, however, had done no such jerking, and he was now leading a blonde girl, kind of on the plain side but looking vaguely familiar back to his spot in the circle.

Theo's brow furrowed as he stared at the girl. He knew he didn't know her, he had never recognized a single captured Mudblood (a fact which he was profoundly grateful of) and Wormtail had said she had gone to Beauxbatons anyway. Maybe that's where he knew her from. Maybe she had come with Fleur Delacour and the other wannabe Triwizard Champions his fourth year at Hogwarts. But no…Theo racked his brain. No. Wormtail hadn't said she_ had_ gone to Beauxbatons, Wormtail said she was going to Beauxbatons _now._

As the ceremony plodded onward Theo glanced at Aidan. He was staring at the girl too, far more intently than Theo had been. He looked stunned. Theo watched Flint stare at Montague until Aidan noticed and met his gaze. Theo was completely baffled. Aidan's look was clearly asking Flint what the bloody fuck did he think he was doing, while Flint's was clearly asking if Montague was having a problem. Aidan broke their eye contact, dropping his head and shaking it. In fact, Warrington was looking strangely at Flint, and so was Higgs, and in fact, so was—Theo turned his attention back to the front of the room and joined in with the clapping and praising of their Lord automatically. He'd almost figured it out, and then he lost it. No matter, he would ask Aidan later.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you SO much to everyone who reviewed! You have no idea how happy it makes me that this little story of mine is actually read and enjoyed by people. Chapter five is about half written at the moment.

For the many of you who asked/commented about this last chapter, the girl Flint chose as his captive is NOT someone the boys/Pansy know. It's just a girl from Beauxbatons that LOOKS like someone they know. Hint: Read the full summary in chapter one and also reread exactly which junior death eaters were looking at Flint in shock to determine who the girl looks like. ;o) You'll find out for sure next chapter anyway.

Oh, and to reiterate, this is obviously AU. I added elements of canon Blaise, but other than that this is AU as of HBP.

* * *

**Chapter Four: ****In which Tracey Davis has a secret**

It was a gloomy day. The weather, some would later say, seemed to be an omen of things to come. Others would say they were being melodramatic swots.

Tracey Davis was little concerned with such things. Hogsmeade weekends did not happen often, and she would be damned if she let a little rain and some thunderclouds deter her from going. She had been born and raised in England (in fact, in a town very close to where Harry Potter himself lived) and such weather was common.

Pansy was gone. Sometimes, Tracey had to repeat the words aloud to convince herself of the truth. Sometimes she had to stare at Pansy's empty corner of the dormitory. It was, as the cliché said, too good to be true.

She knew she wasn't the only one glad to see Pansy gone; Daphne Greengrass and Sally-Ann Perks had relaxed considerably since Pansy had mysteriously left over a month ago. (Left, it was rumored, to join the Death Eaters.) Tracey would not be surprised if this was the truth. Millicent might miss Pansy, but no one ever knew what Millicent thought, and if she did miss the haughty Miss Parkinson, she never displayed the slightest hint of it.

Daphne and Sally-Ann had been relieved that their duties as Pansy's glorified minions were over, and they could now do and say as they pleased (to an extent) but Tracey's relief went far, far deeper than that.

Tracey Davis had a secret. A big one. One that she had been hiding since the first day of first year, helped by Professor Snape. "Davis" was a fairly common enough name, and there was a large branch of pure-blood Davis witches and wizards residing in America. It was relatively easy to pass herself off as one of their cousins. The pure-bloods in Britain were far too snobby to associate themselves with common American wizards, but blood was blood, and the Davis name would suffice.

It had caused her more than a little hardship over the years, the mocking that accompanied her "quaint" pure-blooded relatives. Tracey bore it well. She knew a much worse fate was in store for her if her housemates ever learned the truth: That Mr. and Mrs. Davis were Muggle schoolteachers.

Tracey had often wondered how many other Muggle-borns Snape must be shielding, but she didn't dare ask. An occasional half-blood was allowed in Slytherin, and based on which half was pure, was ridiculed and scorned accordingly. The only half-blood who received any sort of respect at all in her house was Blaise Zabini, and that was due to the fact that his mother was generally held in awe.

But he was the only non pure-blooded Slytherin in her year, as far as anyone else was concerned. Tracey's year especially was dangerous for a Muggle-born. Four out of the five boys were sons of Death Eaters, and all four had inexplicably vanished the same time that Pansy had. The fifth was the aforementioned snotty Mr. Zabini.

There were many times when Tracey had questioned why she had been sorted into Slytherin in the first place. Salazar Slytherin himself most certainly would not have wanted her, and it sometimes seemed like a very tasteless joke the sorting hat had pulled on her. She supposed she _was_ cunning, she had, after all, managed to hide her Mudblood status for six years from a group of fanatical bigots. And she _was_ ambitious. In the darkest, most secret part of her being, Tracey wished to be exposed as a Mudblood.

She was one of the top students of her year, she won awards and points for Slytherin all the time, and she was well liked. If they discovered she was a Mudblood…well…wouldn't, just maybe, some of their minds be changed about blood status? That was the eternal optimist in her. The logical, Slytherin side of her knew this was unlikely, perhaps impossible. Prejudice ran deep, and her classmates turned blind eyes to the evidence contradicting their parent's lies constantly. Hermione Granger was a perfect example of this. The smartest witch in their year, most likely in the whole school, and Muggle-born. Yet all that proof seemed to do was enrage the pure-bloods. How Pansy had hated her…

But that was only a microscopic piece of Tracey that wanted to prove herself as she really was. The rest of her just wished that she had been placed in Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw (_or maybe even Gryffindor,_ that sliver of rebellion whispered. _Hermione Granger seemed like she was in need of a good female friend…_) Tracey quashed that line of thinking immediately.

Coming out of her reverie with a start, Tracey realized she had wandered away from the main street of Hogsmeade, and appeared to be alone, in a somewhat seedy alley beside a pub with a sign of Hog's Head. To further complete her discomfort, a drop of rain splashed directly onto her nose. Great. Bloody perfect. Tracey scowled hideously. She was pulling out her wand to cast an impervious charm when the first flash of lightning hit, followed by the crack of thunder. She looked upwards in growing alarm at the darkening, ominous clouds in the sky. Right. Into the dodgy pub she would go. It was better than being doused by rain or frazzled by lightning.

It was when she took her first step to the entrance of the pub, fifty feet away, when she heard the first scream. She spent a moment frozen in shock, before pivoting around on her heel, squinting her eyes through the rain at the entrance to the alley back at the main street. Her light brown hair getting plastered to her skull, Tracey took a series of tentative steps forward, and peered around the corner into Hogsmeade. Her eyes widened, her mouth forming an "O" of shock.

Death Eaters. There were Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. She had never seen them before, but there was no mistaking the black hooded robes and faceless white masks. There were so many of them—so many of them blasting windows out of storefronts, setting houses on fire, raiding the stores and—Tracey blinked, sure it was the rain obstructing her vision, but no.

They were cursing people. Killing some, and there seemed to be no reasoning behind who was spared or killed. No one had seen here there and that was very lucky indeed, considering she was motionless in shock, fully exposed and unprepared for an attack. Two small figures came sprinting through the rain her way, two Hogwarts girls splashing through puddles messily in their Mary-Janes, frantically attempting to escape notice from the Death Eaters. It wasn't until they were a mere ten feet away from her that Tracey recognized the forms of Daphne Greengrass, and her Herbology partner, Lisa Turpin. They spotted her at the same time.

"Tracey!" they yelled foolishly, in tandem.

"Tracey, Death Eaters!" Daphne Greengrass shrieked, waving her hand behind her for emphasis. "Death Eaters in—" and with that she plummeted face forward into a puddle, a Death Eater revealed a hundred yards away, his wand out.

Lisa gave a blood-curdling scream of sheer terror and ran faster towards the vague safety of Tracey and the alley. Three Death Eaters now were following her, and when Lisa got close enough Tracey grabbed her by her shirt collar and yanked her into the alley and towards the entrance to the pub.

The door unexpectedly flew open, causing both girls to scream in surprise.

The man standing there didn't appear to be a Death Eater. He was elderly, had long white hair and a long white beard, and looked vaguely familiar. His wand was out.

A series of cracks sounded behind them: Apparation. Lisa screamed hysterically again, but kept running. They were almost there…the old man's eyes had widened in alarm at the cracks, but were now narrowed in concentration. He was flinging spells over their heads at the Death Eaters.

"Hurry!" he yelled at them, and in that precious second he was blasted off of his feet and into the wall with a sickening crunch. He was either unconscious or dead.

Lisa would've screamed again, Tracey was certain, but at that moment she was hit by a spell and went down as well. Tracey desperately sprang the last few steps towards the open door (there was sure to be a fireplace, floo powder, some means of escape there) and was stopped in her tracks with two cracks, and two Death Eaters that apparated directly in front of her.

She didn't even have time to get out a hex or even a scream before they grabbed her and hit her with Silencio. She struggled against them, twisting and turning and kicking her feet at them, attempting to claw them with her nails, bite them with her teeth. They merely laughed, as if she were a naughty puppy, and conjured ropes that bound her head to foot.

One of the two held her upright, and the other one turned to the other Death Eaters who were now in the alley. Tracey saw to her horror that there were five more Death Eaters behind them, one of whom was levitating Daphne before him. Two others knelt down beside Lisa and dragged her unconscious form upright. One of the remaining Death Eaters pulled out of his robes a small, metallic device.

"Check this one first," the Death Eater holding Tracey said, shaking her forcefully.

The Death Eater with the metal device moved closer to her, and even through the terrifying, faceless mask, she could see that he was smiling.

Tracey attempted to struggle again as he advanced on her, managed to squirm an inch, causing the rest of them to laugh, and was helpless to stop the Death Eater from shoving the metallic device directly onto her arm.

At first nothing seemed to happen. Then, a whining noise sounded and something sharp stuck into her skin painfully, sucking out a bit of her blood. She unquestionably would've screamed if she had been able to.

The Death Eater pulled the metal instrument away from her and stared at it, as did the rest of the Death Eaters. Tracey found herself staring at it as well, although she had no idea why.

Suddenly, the instrument glowed a bright red. Tracey thought this looked particularly ominous, a thought which was not deterred when the majority of the Death Eaters looked delighted. A few of them had even laughed again.

The man who had stabbed her with the instrument, however, looked back and forth between Tracey and the tool in his hand, perplexed.

"She's in Slytherin," he burst out.

Foolishly, Tracey felt a stab of hope. Slytherin was notoriously the main house of future Death Eaters. Maybe they were going to let her go…?

"A Slytherin, eh?" one of the other Death Eaters said in a rough voice. "She'll be in high demand, even if she ain't so pretty."

What in Salazar's name did that mean? Tracey wondered, her heart racing abnormally fast.

Now the Death Eater had walked over to Lisa and the two men holding her prone form. He repeated the process with the instrument, but at least, Tracey thought, Lisa wouldn't feel it. Again they all stared at the instrument, before a different outcome occurred. The machine had glowed a deep blue. One of the Death Eaters holding Lisa drew his wand and cast a hex, leaving a miniature of the Dark Mark on her hand, in that same shade of blue. Tracey's captor drew his wand and cast the same hex (it stung quite a bit) on her hand, in that sinister shade of red.

Last the metal instrument wielding Death Eater strode to the hovering form of Daphne Greengrass, and repeated his ritual. Once more the results came out differently. This time it was a horrible, glowing green, the exact shade of the Dark Mark when it was cast into the sky.

Tracey felt her stomach plummet for her friend, and her instincts were right. One of the unoccupied Death Eaters drew his wand, and his shout of the killing curse echoed throughout the alleyway. Daphne dropped to the ground, her body lying in a muddy puddle, her limbs askew.

It was at this point that poor Tracey's brain began to work against her, and she was only vaguely aware that the old man had re-awoken and had killed two of the Death Eaters while their attention was elsewhere.

But it was five against one, and while he fought valiantly, bringing down a third Death Eater, he was clearly going to lose. Tracey watched in a numb sort of way as the old man was disarmed, and one of the surviving Death Eaters began uttering the Killing Curse.

"No!" yelled a Death Eater that had been silent until now, cutting off his fellows, who all looked dimwittedly confused. "He's better to us alive than dead," the man snapped when none of the others responded. "Stupefy!" The old man hit the ground hard. "Now let's get out of here," he ordered the rest. "No, leave them," he barked, when several of the remaining Death Eaters had stooped to retrieve their dead comrades. "Hurry up, before Dumbledore gets here."

The last image Tracey saw was of the Dark Mark being blasted into the sky, as another Death Eater grabbed Lisa, before she was hit with the stunning spell. Everything went dark.

* * *

When she awoke with a start, Tracey found herself in a dark cell, hands and feet chained together, a number of shadowed shapes huddled all around her. She squinted, attempting to adjust her eyes to the gloom. She could make out a little more; some figures were propped against the damp stone walls enclosing them, clearly unconscious. Some others were motionless on the floor. It was still far too dark for Tracey to make out who the shapes were, and if any of them were alive. She swallowed, her throat dry. 

"Hello?" she whispered into the darkness. It sounded impossibly loud, and she winced. "Hello?" she tried again, lowering her voice further.

"I don't know why you are whispering," a girl's voice replied in a completely normal pitch. "It doesn't matter if they can hear us, and I don't think they're listening anyway."

Tracey squinted harder, vainly attempting to make out the figure slumped against the wall opposite hers.

"How do you know?" Tracey whispered back, too frightened to speak normally.

"Well, I figure it doesn't matter, does it?" the voice said impatiently. Tracey felt a sense of vague recollection. "We've been captured by Death Eaters and forced like rats into some squalid little cell, I can hardly see how it can get much worse."

"They could kill us," Tracey snapped, but she had responded in her usual voice.

"There are worse things than death," the voice said in an odd tone.

Tracey frowned. She _knew_ that voice, she was sure of it.

"Who are you?" she questioned.

"Who are _you_?" the voice shot back snappishly.

"Hermione Granger?" Tracey said, astonished. Surely, no one could snap at people quite as well as Granger could.

"Yes," the voice (Granger, Tracey reminded herself) said, sounding weary. "It's me. Who are you? You sound very familiar."

Tracey squirmed for a moment. She was sure she knew why Granger knew her voice. She had, after all, been one of Pansy's groupies. And one of Pansy's favorite pastimes was tormenting Hermione Granger. Tracey figured if she laughed contemptuously Granger would get it in a second. She wavered guiltily, and a bit nervously. Tracey had the shrewd suspicion that she was one of the last people Hermione Granger would want to be stuck in this situation with.

"Well," Granger said, her voice back to its normal bossy quality, "you're not answering, so either you've passed out like the rest of them, or you're afraid to tell me your name. Do you really think I care if you've made fun of me before?" she snapped waspishly.

"Tracey Davis," she replied, barely audible.

"What?" Granger asked.

Screwing up her courage, she repeated herself, louder.

"I'm Tracey Davis."

"I heard you the first time," Granger said, still sound waspish.

"Then why did you say 'what'?" Tracey replied belligerently. Really, sometimes Pansy was right. The girl was impossible.

"Well, what are _you_ doing here?" Granger responded, now sounding bewildered.

"Having tea and scones with the Queen," Tracey snapped. "What do you **think** I'm doing here?"

To her surprise, she heard Granger snicker. She was under the impression the girl hadn't the slightest sense of humor.

"Sorry, that was a silly question," Granger admitted.

Yet another shock. Granger admitting faults?

"I meant, why are you in _this _cell? They have the partially Pure Bloods somewhere else."

Now was the moment of truth. Oddly…Tracey felt a sense of relief. Granger was right. Things really couldn't get any worse, and her secret must be out anyway. That must've been what that whole hullabaloo was about in the alley.

"What makes you think I have any pure -blood?" Tracey said, feeling free for the first time since she had been sorted into Slytherin. "I'm a Mudblood, just like you."

"Don't use that word," Granger snarled. "Why do you use that word? It's stupid."

"It's what we are," Tracey pointed out.

"We're Muggleborns," Granger protested, "there's a difference."

"I don't see one," Tracey said honestly. "It's two different words for the same thing."

"Well, I suppose _**you**_ wouldn't," Granger muttered mutinously. "Do the rest of them know about this?" she continued incredulously. "Pansy Parkinson, and Daphne Greengrass, and Draco Malfoy and all their lot?"

"Daphne's dead," Tracey said shortly, a lump rising in her throat.

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry," Granger said finally. She did sound sorry. "The Death Eaters?"

"Yes," Tracey replied. "You shouldn't be sorry," she added, "we were horrible to you."

"Not horrible enough to die," Granger said, her voice clipped.

They were silent again.

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth," Tracey said sincerely.

"Sorry?" Granger sounded bewildered. "Sorry for what?"

"For picking on you. For making your life bloody miserable," Tracey responded. She meant it, and she also figured it would be best to try and atone for her sins before the Death Eaters killed her.

"I can understand why you did it," Granger said, sounding tired. "There's no need to apologize."

Damn Gryffindors. Noble to the core.

"I was a bloody bitch!" Tracey exclaimed, exasperated. "I was mean and nasty and petty, and I was pathetic too! I only did it so they would like me."

"Sounds like it bothered you more than it bothered me," Granger said, her voice still sounding drained. "I think you've suffered enough. But I gather that isn't what you want to hear, so I'll say what you **do** want to hear; apology accepted."

"There's no need to pretend to forgive me," Tracey retorted, "just because you think I'm pathetic. Why don't you tell me what you really think of me?"

Granger sighed loudly.

"You are insufferably pig-headed," she sniped. "I thought that was supposed to be a Gryffindor fault."

"And I thought that being clever meant you were set for Ravenclaw, yet here you are a Gryffindor," Tracey replied angrily. "Don't put me into a box."

"You did it first," Granger replied indignantly. There was a pause. "I think this is when we are supposed to start pulling each other's hair."

Tracey laughed, then clapped a hand to her mouth. God, she was an idiot. She might as well start screaming "Hey Death Eaters, I'm alive! Come kill me!"

"I already told you it doesn't matter if they can hear us or not," Granger said huffily.

"I suppose you're right," Tracey said, her heart still pounding. "Do you know where we are?"

"No, I only came to recently," Granger replied. "But we can assume it's nowhere good."

"The rest of them," Tracey began, her voice hushed this time out of horror than out of fear of being overheard, "the rest of them here…are they dead?"

"Doubtful," Granger replied. "The left the ones they killed behind, didn't you see?"

"Yes," Tracey said wearily, "I saw." Something of their earlier conversation occurred to her. "How do you know they separated the Mudbloods from the mixed bloods?" she demanded.

"They took me awake," Granger said, her voice strange.

Tracey had the undeniable feeling that Granger would've preferred to be unconscious.

"I saw them sort us. They marked you with a red Dark Mark, didn't they?"

"Yes," Tracey said, looking down and rubbing her hand. It was too dark to see more than the outline of her body.

"Well, they sorted the red marks into one group, blue marks in another. Then they knocked me out and shoved us in here."

"Why do you think they did that? Separate us by blood, I mean?" Tracey clarified. She had a few hunches herself, and none were good.

"Well," Granger said slowly, "I assume they might force the blue marks into joining them."

"Joining them?" Tracey exclaimed. "They're not pure-bloods!"

"Neither is V-Voldemort," Hermione retorted.

Tracey cringed, shrinking in on herself. She almost expected You-Know-Who to have appeared, fuming that someone had dared use that name. It took her a second longer to figure out what Granger had said.

"He's not a pure-blood?" she asked, astonished—but skeptical.

"No, his father was a Muggle," Granger replied.

As Tracey digested this unexpected information, Hermione said something infinitely more horrible than anything else she had yet said.

"I suppose they're going to torture us," she said casually, "for a long time. Then kill us. I'm not sure if they are going to rape us or not. That would be rather hypocritical of them, to 'befoul' themselves that way, but they're not known for their consistency," Granger finished sarcastically.

Tracey's mouth worked soundlessly, and Granger's earlier words came back to her.

"There are worse things than death," she mumbled in a doze.

"Yes," Granger said conversationally, "but I expect I'll get the worst of it. Because of Harry, you know," she clarified, as if Tracey hadn't realized that herself. "I just hope," she continued, still in that horribly cavalier tone, "that I don't reveal anything before they kill me. I've never had the Cruciatus curse cast on me, I don't know how I'll react."

"Maybe they'll just use Veritaserum," Tracey managed to get out through numb lips.

"I suspect they will, after they torture me a bit first."

"How can you say it like that?" Tracey finally exploded. "How can you be so calm?"

"I'm not really," Granger replied, "I suppose it's shock. But ever since they took me, I knew I was going to die. I just have to hope I can keep my mouth shut until I do."

"I don't know," Tracey said, a thought occurring to her, "I think you're more valuable as a hostage. They might torture you, but I don't think they will kill you. Me, on the other hand…" she trailed off, shuddering.

"I hadn't thought of that," Granger mused, "I think you might be right about what they are going to do to me. I'd rather they killed me."

Tracey believed her.

"If they were going to kill us, they would've done it already," Tracey said, finally voicing her worst fear. "They didn't have a problem killing Daphne. So I can only assume that they have something worse in store for us."

"I agree," Granger replied, "but I hope we're wrong."

She clearly didn't believe they were wrong, and neither did Tracey. Without warning, what had appeared to be a section of the cell wall, but was actually a door, swung open. Although the light spilling in from the corridor was only torchlight, Tracey felt like she had been blinded. It took a while for her to be able to see again, and when she did, she wished she really had gone blind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **For real now, JK wouldn't write this crap.

**A/N: **So…this was a long time coming. I had the first half written literally a year ago, and then horrible writer's block hit, so I basically decided "eff it, I'll just gloss over that part instead of describing it fully!" So I did that, it worked, and I wrote the second half in like an hour and a half, which was freakishly quick for me. Sorry if you miss the action scene, but we get to Theo/Hermione sooner eh? Eh? Good tradeoff, yes? Hey, were are you going…?!

**Chapter Five: In which Aidan Grows a Conscience**

Theo strapped his spare wand onto his calf as Montague ran through the plan with all of them for their second official raid. There were five new recruits in their raid, all young like them and even less experienced. Theo supposed it was another test for Montague, to display his leading prowess. He already knew what they were doing; he had helped Aidan write it for heaven's sake, so he allowed his mind to drift. Draco was pouting in the corner, his lower lip jutted out and his arms crossed. Really, the _nerve_ of Malfoy, Theo thought, disgusted. He was lucky that all that had happened to him was a demotion, and that he hadn't been killed outright or at the very least, "taught a lesson."

Flint also had his arms folded, but he looked terrifying and gigantic as usual, instead of whining and useless like Draco. Flint…Marcus worried Theo and Aidan more than anything, maybe even more than Aurors, and _Theo_ had to keep him in check. It was ludicrous. He wasn't small, but he still weighed about half of what Flint did, and unlike with Crabbe, Goyle, and Bole that bulk was pure muscle. Not to mention the very important fact that Flint was insane.

***********************

"Why was everyone staring at Flint like that after he chose his Mudblood?" Theo demanded.

Aidan turned around as Theo caught up to him in the corridor.

"Not here," he said so low that Theo almost didn't hear it. "Are you crazy? Do you want to be overheard?"

"You've been avoiding me for a week," Theo pointed out, attempting not to whine. "I've been forced to talk with _Pansy,_" he said disgustedly. "Do I need to remind you of her bizarre determination to seduce me?"

Aidan snorted. "Well, I do suppose I owe you for that." Lowering his voice, he continued, "Let's go to my room. I don't want any eavesdroppers."

***********************

"Is everyone clear?" Montague asked, starting Theo out of his reverie.

The new recruits looked a mixture of excited, nervous, and ill as they nodded. Crabbe nodded as well. Flint grunted. Malfoy scowled.

"Crystal clear," Theo responded, since it appeared no one else was going to.

"Malfoy," Flint barked unexpectedly, "answer your leader."

"I'm clear," Malfoy said sulkily.

"You better be," Flint said forcefully, "you almost got the rest of us killed last time."

Malfoy looked furious and humiliated in front of the new recruits, who were all looking at him curiously. Two of them were whispering and snickering to each other. But he kept silent.

Well . It appeared Flint did have his uses as the other second in command after all.

"Right," Aidan said, "no names and let's keep it clean this time."

They pulled on their masked, raised their hoods and apparated away.

**********************

"You've been avoiding me, and it has something to do with Flint's Mudblood, and I want to know why," Theo demanded as soon as the door closed behind Aidan.

Montague didn't really seem to be listening. "Has it occurred to you yet," he asked, staring at his bookshelf, "what we've done by not accepting a Mudblood?"

Theo paused. "You put a silencing—"

"Of course."

"Well," he started uncomfortably, "a lot of people decline. Snape, for one. As long as you say it right the Dark Lord doesn't care."

"I'm not talking about Him."

"Well the Lestranges might have been a little—"

"_**No**_," Aidan cut him off again, sharper. "That's not what I mean and you know it, unless you're a lot dumber than I thought. Please don't tell me you're dumb, Theo, I need at least one person I can trust."

"You know I'm not dumb," Theo said irritably.

"So you _saw_ how they looked at you," Montague said urgently, and Theo looked over at him and met his friend's unscrutable gaze. "You _saw_."

"I saw who?"

"Stop it Theo," Aidan responded, and now he sounded really angry and…yes, a little panicked. "I mean it. I know you aren't sure about me, but I'm just better at hiding it than you. We have the same views."

If Theo really hadn't known what his friend was talking about, this little speech, however impassioned, wouldn't have clarified a thing. However….

"If I believe you and you're lying, I'm dead," he said quietly.

"I could say the same thing about myself," Montague retorted. "So you saw. And then you saw how they looked at me instead."

"Yes," Theo said wearily, "I did. But it didn't make sense until after it was already done."

Aidan nodded. "Nor for me. Not until Flint…" his face spasmed and he fell momentarily silent.

"Who _is_ that girl?" Theo asked, using the opportunity. "You all seemed to know her."

"We don't," Aidan said shortly, "we just know who she looks like."

"Who does she look like?" Theo prompted when it appeared no further explanation was forthcoming.

"She doesn't look familiar to you?"

"A little."

Montague was silent again, looking disturbed. "Gryffindor. Quidditch," he finally spat out, and that's when it clicked in Theo's head.

"Oh, the chaser! I can't remember her name."

"Katie Bell," Montague said, "a year below me and a year above you."

Theo digested this for a moment. It fit, of course. That was why it had been all the older ex Quidditch players that had stared at Marcus strangely. There was only one thing that didn't fully make sense.

"Did he have a thing for her?"

***************************

Ollivanders. It had been a strange choice for a raid until Rabastan Lestrange had explained it. If there was no Ollivanders, there were no wands. No wands for new Muggle-borns, no new wands for Wizards and Witches who lost or ruined their old one. Unless of course, they were a Death Eater or a supporter of the Dark Lord. Then you had an ample supply. If you raided Ollivanders the shop, then there were no wands, and if you got rid of Ollivander the _man,_ you made sure that there would be no _new _wands. Sure there were other wand makers in other countries, but Ollivander was by far the best, and making the opposition use shoddy wands was a huge advantage.

All the Death Eaters had been given orders to destroy every wand they saw on an enemy from now on. What was to be done to get Ollivander out of the picture was a decision Rabastan left up to them. Whether as a test, or because it really didn't matter was a subject he, Aidan, and Flint had debated. Or more accurately, he and Aidan debated while Flint scowled and threw in the occasional grunt and even a rare actual word or two. Flint of course, had advocated killing Ollivander outright. Theo had hastily suggested kidnapping instead, and Aidan had agreed. Aidan thought it was a genius plan, to kidnap Ollivander and force him to make the Death Eater's wands if need be.

Theo of course had actually had no such plan in mind, and had only suggested abduction as a reflex to the thought of murder. He didn't think of himself as a murderer. That Auror had jumped in front of a curse he had meant for a table. It wasn't his fault. At least that's what he told himself when he was awake late at night with insomnia. But as for Ollivander, he had just been thinking of ransom. It was just as well that Aidan had attributed a far superior plan to him. It wouldn't do to have the Lestranges thinking again of how unwilling to kill he really was.

************************

"I don't know. Maybe. Yes. I'm not sure," Aidan responded agitatedly. "I mean, I always thought he was a little weird about her, but she's four years younger than him. She was only fifteen when he graduated, for Salazar's sake!"

"That doesn't mean he hasn't got a thing for her," Theo said in a low voice. "This IS Flint we're talking about."

"This wasn't what I wanted to talk about with you anyway," Aidan said roughly. "Although I suppose it serves as a good example. What if—_what if,_ Theo, one of us had taken that girl instead? Then Flint wouldn't have her, would he?"

Theo knew exactly where Montague was going with this, and he silently begged his friend not to continue. Saying it would only make it more real.

"Or what if we took one of the other Mudbloods. Any of the other Mudbloods. Like that poor woman Jugson took, and traded to Rabastan, and then ended up dead, all in less than a week. What if one of us had taken her? She wouldn't be dead for one. She wouldn't have been tortured. She wouldn't have been ra—"  
"Shut up!" Theo burst out so loudly that he startled even himself. "Just…just shut up, Montague. You're talking like a traitor."

Montague eyed him knowingly.

"All I'm doing," he said quietly, "is saying what you are already thinking."

**********************

Crabbe and Malfoy had been relegated to wand packing detail with the new recruits. It was about all they were good for, shrinking the wands and placing them in a trunk. It might even be _above_ their capabilities, but Montague and Theo had to work with what they were given. The two of them along with Flint had broken into Ollivander's apartment above the store, but so far they hadn't seen any sign of him.

"Where is he?" Theo whispered to Aidan. "He should be here."

"Maybe he's hiding," Aidan murmured back, while Flint prowled around silently in front of them. "Maybe he just went out for the night, or maybe he—"

A high pitched yelp from downstairs cut Montague off.

"What was—" Theo started stupidly.

"Malfoy," Flint grunted, bounding out of the room and towards the stairwell. (The anti-apparation wards were in place again.)

They ran downstairs in a panic, expecting Aurors, or Order members, or even a fight between the new recruits and Malfoy, and instead encountered a nest of cockroaches flitting about while Malfoy stood on a chair and blasted them.

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" Aidan exclaimed in disgust.

**************************

"So you know what this means, right?" Aidan asked Theo.

Theo nodded reluctantly, staring at the fire in the fireplace. This could be a very, very terrible idea. Even though he had nodded in assent, Aidan pressed on, putting it into words anyway.

"It _means _that no matter what, if we get a Mudblood offering again, we have to take it," he said urgently. "We have to save—" Aidan stopped, after saying the traitorous, Gryffindor-esque words aloud, then took a deep breath and plunged on. "We have to _save _however many we can, even if it is only one of them."

"There are a lot of flaws in that plan," Theo muttered.

"No shit," Aidan snapped. "For starters, how do we keep one without displaying sadistic tendencies toward them in front of other Death Eaters?"

"I didn't even mean that," Theo frowned, "although now that you mention it that is a slight problem. Well," he suddenly remembered, "you never see the woman the Lestranges took, and no one says a word about that. And have you seen the girl Flint took either?"

"You're forgetting the fact that they have nothing to prove," Aidan reminded Theo, "in regards to their sadistic tendencies. We do."

"That's still not what I am worrying about," Theo said.

"Then what?" Aidan inquired.

"How do we choose?" Theo asked uncomfortably. "Think about it Aidan, we're kind of playing God here, and we have to choose just one to save."

Aidan squirmed, clearly not having thought of it himself.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "if we recognize one of them, we save that one. Like say some Ravenclaw Mudblood we went to school with shows up. We take her."

Theo shuddered. "I hope no one we went to school with ever shows up," he muttered almost inaudibly.

"I don't either, but you know it's going to happen eventually," Montague said grimly, "and I heard there is a raid planned on Hogsmeade the day of our next raid."

Theo choked. "Is it a…weekend the Hogwarts students will be there?"

"We can presume," Montague said. "Just thank Salazar we're assigned somewhere else and don't have to be there. Quit dodging the point though, Theo. Are we making an agreement or not?"

"We're making an agreement," Theo said in a low voice, staring at the floor again. "Next time, we take a Mudblood."

************************

"That's it," Flint hissed, as the recruits started laughing at the spectacle of Malfoy hiding and squealing like he was a ten year old girl. "I'm gonna kill him." He started forward, pulling out his wand, and Malfoy squawked in horror again as the recruits stopped laughing and looked apprehensive.

"That's enough Flint," Theo said, attempting to sound in control, although he felt like he might need new underpants at any moment. "Malfoy, stop being a twit and get back to work."

Flint glared at him, and Malfoy gave him a bizarre look that mixed indignation for being referred to as a twit and gratefulness at being saved from Flint.

"Good work," Montague told him, quietly enough so only Theo could hear. "I have no idea why Flint listens to you at all, but at least he does."

Theo felt incredibly odd as the three of them went back upstairs to search for Ollivander. He was behaving like an actual Death Eater now. His father would be proud. The Lestranges would be pleased after they saw his memories on this raid. Yet all he could think about was the raid on Hogsmeade and his former classmates, and wish that this was all a bad dream.

*******************************

Pansy looked superior, as usual, as she flounced into Theo's room uninvited. Aidan was sprawled on Theo's couch, exhausted. Flint was disturbingly enough, acting as if the three of them were now friends, or what passed as friendship in Flint's demented mind, and was scarfing food down like he was starving to death while he sat on a chair.

"How did the raid go, boys?" She asked, smirking. "Mine went fabulously. I'm sure I'll be offered a new Mudblood right away."

"What's wrong with your old one?" Aidan snapped at her with disgust. "Wore him out already?"

"If you knew anything at all, Montague," she said coldly, "you would know that if you please the Dark Lord exceptionally, you can have more than one Mudblood at a time."

"Oh of course," he snorted, "I'm sure you have done that."

Pansy, clearly deeming him of no importance, ignored him and turned to Theo instead.

"So, the raid Theo?" she asked in her voice that she apparently thought was sweet and alluring, but instead was heinously fake and irritating.

"We got Ollivander," he said shortly. "He'll be making wands for us now."

Pansy raised her eyebrows, impressed against her will. "Well," she said slowly, "I believe the Dark Lord will be happy with you boys. No mishaps, I can assume?"

"Only Malfoy again," Theo said, since it appeared Aidan was ignoring Pansy and Flint was not talking, as usual. Apparently, he only got chatty when he was about to torture.

Pansy rolled her eyes and sighed. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Yes, you do," Aidan said, his delight at Draco being an idiot overcoming his hatred of Pansy. "He squealed about cockroaches, reprimanded a new recruit for mussing up his hair, jumped into Crabbe's arms when a rat ran over his foot, and got punched in the face by Flint for being a sissy for good measure," he recited with relish.

"You're _joking,_" Pansy gasped, delight all over her face.

"Well, the part about jumping into Crabbe's arms," Aidan admitted. "The rest? Not so much with the joking."

"That is simply too wonderful," she sighed, looking ecstatic. "I'm so glad I don't have to pretend to find him interesting anymore." Aidan laughed, and Theo pondered the oddness of Malfoy hatred bringing the two of them together.

"How'd the Hogsmeade raid go?" Flint unexpectedly grunted.

"How should I know, I wasn't there," Pansy snapped. "I was leading my team on a raid at Flourish and Blotts. That, however, went splendidly."

"You already said that," Aidan said, bored, truce apparently over when they weren't mocking Malfoy.

Infuriated that they weren't hanging on her every word, Pansy snapped, "Sorry to annoy you, Montague. I heard from the Lestranges that the Hogsmeade raid went decently. Most of the Death Eaters acted stupidly, and at least ten were killed, but none were captured and many Mudbloods and half-bloods were taken."

Theo froze. Aidan stopped rolling his eyes at Pansy's superior tone. Flint even stopped eating.

_Too soon, too soon,_ Theo thought. _Too soon for new Mudbloods. _He couldn't handle the responsibility of having one, and he knew it was likely he would be offered one again. He couldn't handle saving only one when the rest stared at him. He couldn't handle owning a Mudblood like it was a piece of meat, he couldn't handle pretending to abuse the Mudblood, he couldn't handle—he noticed Aidan starting at him meaningfully and cut off his thoughts mid-panic. He could handle it. He had to.

***************************

Death Eaters were what greeted Tracey and Hermione, a group of Death Eaters with one small man in front, his hand looking strangely as if it were made of silver. The Death Eaters poured into the cell as she and Granger blinked against the light, reviving the other prisoners with their wands. Granger was staring at the small man with revulsion and horror, but he wasn't meeting her eyes. He looked almost….guilty. He turned away, but not before one horrifying sentence came out of his mouth to the Death Eaters that were shackling all of them together.

"Make them look good for the gifting. They are all gathering now."

As Hermione looked at her with terror, Tracey knew she must look confused. _What on Earth_, she thought, _did that mean?_

**End A/N:** You know, your reviews DO actually guilt me into writing more. Hint. Hinthinthint.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **JK is really not this perverse. At least openly.

**A/N: **See what happens when you guilt me by reviewing? Do you see, people? I won't lie to you though, I won't be updating this quick in the future, but right now I had no college and no work, so I had free time. Please review, as I am kind of worried that I repeated things and ran in circles 800 times this chapter. Oh, and to reiterate, this obviously is AU and does not take HBP or DH into account.

**Chapter Six: ****In Which Severus Snape Does the Unexpected**

It meant, Tracey found out, that they were going to be sprayed with water and then have drying charms cast on them, that they would have their hair violently brushed and fixed by a few male Death Eaters who clearly did not care how much it hurt, and that they would be hit with "Silencio" while they stood in their shackled little line.

Tracey looked at Granger next to her, and Granger unexpectedly took her hand and squeezed it. She looked around, and recognized far more faces than she cared to. Almost every Hogwarts student, and there were at least twenty of them, at least looked familiar, even if she couldn't place their names. There were a few students who looked fully like the twelve or thirteen year old children that they were, and to her surprise, one other Slytherin. A boy, who she believed was called Mark and was in his Fourth year. Lisa Turpin wasn't there, but then she didn't expect her to be. If what Hermione had said was right, she was with the half-bloods or quarter-bloods or three-quarter bloods somewhere else, waiting to be brainwashed and recruited. Megan Jones, a Hufflepuff in her year, was there though. So was Su Li, a Ravenclaw in Tracey's year, and Anthony Goldstein, the Prefect from Ravenclaw.

It was too horrifying. She had Arithmancy with Goldstein and Li. She had Anicent Runes with Jones. And now they all had Death 101 together. A blonde Gryffindor at the end caught her eye…a Quidditch player whose name she couldn't remember, and who was staring desperately at Hermione Granger. They all knew this was bad, catastrophically bad.

************************

For some bizarre reason he couldn't even explain to himself, Theo had decided now was a good time to brush his hair. Compulsively. Obsessively. It's not like the Mudbloods will be looking at _you_ like an animal, he reminded himself. And he was going to put the stupid hood over it anyway. A loud knock on his door made him jump. Skittish, Theodore, he reprimanded himself, you are too obviously skittish.

It was Pansy. Of course.

"Ready to go, Theo?" she asked, clearly excited. Her eyes were dancing, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, and when Theo saw that she was compulsively fixing her hair he almost laughed. At himself, of course. He rarely laughed, and when he did, it was usually at himself.

"Yeah," he mumbled, before he remembered he had an act to put on. "Do you think I'll be offered a Mudblood?" he asked, attempting to make it sound hopeful.

"I'm sure!" Pansy said, eagerly. "You won't turn one down this time Theo, will you?" she demanded.

"Definitely not," he said, and forced himself to laugh a little. "The pickings last time were just a little slim for me."

Pansy nodded. "The girls were pretty weak," she agreed. "And of course," she looked up at Theo with a smile from under her eyelashes as she grabbed his arm, "nowhere near as pretty as me."

Theo tried not to look disgusted. Why on Earth did Pansy insist on trying to seduce him? He wasn't even that powerful. The only ones who seemed to like him were the Lestranges.

_"We shall take the matter up with the Dark Lord, dearest,"_ echoed through his head again, and he tried not to shudder.

He was just trying to figure out how to pry Pansy off of his arm without offending her when Aidan apparated in front of them in the hallway. He raised an eyebrow at Pansy's clinging and sneered, but otherwise didn't comment.

"Let's go," he said, and when he did, he and Theo made very brief eye contact before they all apparated to the ceremony. It was a reminder of their deal, like Theo would actually forget. It was all he could bloody think about, and it was making him sick.

Maybe he wouldn't recognize anyone, he tried to reason with himself while they took their places (more prestigious places than last Mudblood gifting) in the circle. Maybe there would be no Hogwarts students at all. Maybe Pansy was wrong. _ Maybe you're a coward_, that horrible internal voice threw at him venomously. Maybe _you will recognize a bunch of them, and you can only save one, at the most. So figure out how you are going to pick, __**Theodore,**_ his internal voice spat disgustedly.

It was a good point, and one he tried to think of instead of listing to the monotony of the ceremony again. He managed to distract himself all the way up until it was time to reveal who would be potential candidates to received Mudbloods as pets.

He held his breath, and didn't even know what he wanted. If his name was called, he could save someone, and that was good. If his name wasn't called, he didn't have the responsibility of trying to save someone, and that was better. His ears were doing that funny ringing again, and almost made him miss it when Montague's name was called. Resignation washed over him. He had done better than Montague on the raid, he knew it. The Lestranges had been like proud parents after they viewed his memories of the last raid, albeit the most dysfunctional proud parents ever. He would be called…and he was. Right after Pansy and Flint were called again, along with Higgs, for the first time. Pansy had said Higgs was finally useful on their last raid at Flourish and Blotts….

Theo moved forward mechanically, next to the other forty or so Death Eaters called. By far the largest number offered rewards…that could only be a good thing for his chances of not having to choose a Mudblood. _Coward,_ the voice whispered, _you make me sick._ I never said I was a Gryffindor, Theo thought roughly, and the voice shut up.

He stood there, waiting, half horrified and all nerves, when the Mudbloods were finally let in. It was worse than he thought.

**************************

Katie Bell couldn't believe this was happening. She looked over at Hermione Granger, standing next in their little prisoner line to some Slytherin girl who looked somewhat familiar, and tried to figure out how the hell this could be happening. So many of her friends killed, right before her eyes during what was supposed to be a fun Hogsmeade trip. Others taken, yet not with the rest of them, a fact Katie could not explain.

And now, after being enervated, 'washed,' and dried, she was looking at the other people she was chained to, desperately looking for a pattern now that no one could talk and explain things. They all had some sort of red Dark Mark on their hands…but that probably meant something larger. Something…more sinister. What did she have in common with Hermione? Gryffindors, girls, Muggleborns….of course. Her stomach dropped. The last one, of course. And Death Eaters hated Muggleborns. Maybe she would recognize some of them, she thought, and she couldn't decide if that made things worse or not. There were a number of ex Quidditch players from Slytherin who were rumored Death Eaters, and none of them liked her at all. In fact, considering she had routinely beat Slytherin at Quidditch at least five years, they probably wanted to get back at her. They would show no mercy. But as she looked over at Hermione, Katie felt even more frightened, in that Gryffindor self-sacrificing nobility kind of way. No matter what, she thought, Hermione would get it worse than her.

*************************

There were so many of them, so many in Hogwarts uniforms that they blurred together and Theo couldn't even see them clearly. When his vision finally cleared, he immediately zeroed in on Tracey Davis. How could he not? She was staring at him in recognition…they didn't wear their masks for the Mudblood ceremonies. She looked frightened, and a little ill, and she clearly had some bruises and scratches from whatever had happened to get her here.

But what the _bloody hell _was she doing here at all? Theo thought, almost angrily. Tracey was in Slytherin. She was supposedly pureblood, even though it was tacky American relations. How could Snape not know about this? How could she be with the Mudbloods? And she was _definitely_ with the Mudbloods, he recognized them. Su Li. Anthony Goldstein next to Megan Jones. Some lower year Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors whose names he couldn't place. And…was that…_Hermione Granger_? As soon as he recognized her, standing on the other side of Tracey, he realized there was much shifting and buzzing going on amongst the Death Eaters, and that must have been why. Dear Salazar. Granger was going to be dead within seconds.

_No Theo_, the voice said. _Granger is going to be tortured. And raped, probably_. He tried to block the voice out, but it didn't work_. In fact, the Dark Lord probably wants her kept alive as a hostage_, the voice continued ruthlessly, so _she'll just be damaged until she outgrows her usefulness. You think the Malfoys don't want a shot at her? Or Dolohov, after she cursed him? Or the Lestranges? There might be a duel fought right now amongst the Death Eaters as to who got her, but once the dust would settle, she would be in massive amounts of pain, and she did nothing to do deserve it, except to be a good friend to Harry Potter._ And, he tried to argue back feebly, she tried to be a witch even though she doesn't belong in our world. The voice apparently didn't even have to respond anymore to shame him. He could feel it sneering at him. Conversely, he could also feel himself wondering if he was going mad.

Granger looked blank. Her face held no expression, unlike the rest of the Mudbloods, who almost uniformly looked terrified. Theo looked away from the middle of the line where Tracey was still staring at him next to Granger. How, he wondered to himself, did they always know? The Mudbloods always seemed to know that he was the weakest, that he was the one they wanted to get taken by. This was dangerous, and he needed to stop looking like the metaphorical teddy bear and blankie. The Lestranges despised weakness, and he had them, along with Pansy, hawkishly watching his every move all day, every day, it seemed like.

He looked away from Tracey, and that's when he recognized horrifying surprise number three. He wouldn't have remembered her name if he hadn't have had that conversation with Aidan, and Flint hadn't taken that girl that was clearly the less attractive version of her, but now Theo recognized Katie Bell as soon as he saw her. He risked a glance around and it was confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt. Marcus was staring at her, his eyes more alive than Theo had ever seen them, even when he was killing the Boot family. Aidan looked almost stricken, but was holding it in. Higgs had his head cocked to the side, sizing her up. Warrington and Bole were even staring from their place in the circle. Malfoy, however, wasn't looking at anyone but Granger.

It didn't matter where Malfoy was looking, Theo reminded himself, he wasn't getting a shot at a Mudblood anyway.

Wormtail started listing the attributes of the Mudbloods, and if the other times this had happened were bad, this was excruciating. He knew these people. And he had no idea which one to take. Clearly he couldn't take Granger, she would get taken right away and he hadn't been that spectacular on the raid to warrant first choice. So that left Tracey as the obvious choice. He knew Tracey, he had shared a house with her for six years, and almost all his classes and mealtimes. She was a nice girl, even if she was friends with Pansy. Thinking of Pansy led to thinking of Pansy's reaction to her good friend being a Mudblood, and sure enough, she looked furious. Even angrier than she looked at Granger. Well, Theo amended his earlier thought, if Pansy got first choice, Granger wouldn't be taken first then. It would definitely be Tracey.

Theo looked at Katie Bell again, to block out the revolting things Wormtail was now saying about poor Su Li. Maybe Tracey wasn't the obvious pick. She was sweet, and she was somewhat his friend, but Katie might be in greater danger from Flint. Scratch that, Katie _was_ in far greater danger from Flint. Theo had never seen Flint look so alive. His face was shining, his eyes were sparkling, he was grinning. It was the things nightmares were made of, and poor Katie Bell was having it directed right at her, and she finally noticed.

**************************

Oh my God, Katie thought to herself faintly as she looked at the hundreds of Death Eaters staring at her, was that Marcus Flint? And was he…grinning at her? She felt weak and nauseated. She might faint. Katie dug her fingernails into her arm above the shackle to keep herself alert. Just look away from him, she told herself, and she tore her gaze away to another Death Eater. No. No no no. It was Montague. And there was…yes that was Higgs. Warrington was there too, and so was Bole. Malfoy was standing next to Crabbe, but that didn't matter. It was just like she suspected. Slytherin ex Quidditch players who all had it out for her. Montague was staring at her too, his jaw clenched and his face angry. He still scared her less than Flint, though. When she looked away, expecting more Death Eaters to be staring at her, she was surprised (although she shouldn't have been) to see so many of them looking at someone else. That was of course, when she remembered Hermione. And this time, she felt a shameful tinge of relief that someone was directing the attention from her.

**************************

"Tracey Davis, Mudblood number 46," Wormtail said in his weak little voice, and Tracey was shoved forward by Travers and Jugson while Theo watched, numb. Wormtail read some more from his horrid paper.

"Sixth year Slytherin."

There was much startled murmuring at that, and some of the Death Eaters managed to look away from Granger for a millisecond to stare at the traitor of Slytherin.

"Five foot six inches, about eight and a half stone, mousy brown hair and dark blue eyes, around average attractiveness level. In decent physical condition, would most likely work best as a sexual companion."

At this gem, Theo almost hurled. Tracey looked like a rabbit caught in a trap, and she stared at Theo again. Begging.

"No special instructions from the Dark Lord on Mudblood forty-six," was the last thing Wormtail said, than he cleared his throat while Tracey was shoved back into the line, and Theo could practically hear every Death Eater strain forward in anticipation. Wormtail paused, and had a strange look on his face Theo couldn't place for a moment, but later on recognized as guilt.

"Mudblood number forty-seven…Hermione Granger." Just as Theo expected, a storm of hissing broke out. As if they hadn't already known it was her.

Theo felt a weird sort of admiration for Granger though. Gone was the blank look when the Death Eaters yanked her forward, and instead, she looked haughty. Superior. Her chin was jutted out and she looked like none of them were good enough to wipe bubotuber pus off of her shoes. It was dangerous to do this, yet…it was the bravest thing he had ever seen.

"Sixth year Gryffindor. Five foot four inches, around eight stone, brown frizzy hair, brown eyes. Average looking."

If Granger looked offended by this description, she didn't show it. She just kept looking above it all. Wormtail paused again, and read the rest in a jumbled rush.

"Good friend of Harry Potter. Quite brainy, maybe useful in that manner. Special Instructions from the Dark Lord are as follows: Hermione Granger is not to be killed on pain of death. She is not to have permanent, irreversible physical damage."

Theo noted there was nothing about permanent_ mental_ damage, however. And it wasn't like there weren't a million potions and charms to heal torture wounds.

"Only certain Death Eaters will be trusted with the access of Mudblood forty-seven, who is treated as a valuable hostage. Non compliance with these orders results in death, in the most agonizing manner possible."

Granger was shoved back in place, and Theo's mind whirred a million miles per hour. So he most likely wouldn't even be approved for her, then. No need to worry. Just a choice between Tracey and Katie, then, and maybe Montague would get called first and take that choice away.

Wormtail continued to go down the list, and the Death Eaters continued to stare at Granger in a hungry manner, while she seemed not to care about that at all. Theo was impressed against his will. _That will be broken out of her though_, the voice piped up unexpectedly, _don't worry Theodore, you don't have to admire her for long. Her spirit, even if she won't be, will be dead within a week at the most. _He felt ill.

"Mudblood seventy-one, Katie Bell."

Flint grinned wider, if it was possible.

"Seventh year Gryffindor, five foot eight inches tall, nine and a half stone, dark blonde hair, blue eyes. Above average attractiveness level. Quidditch player, so has reasonable athletic skills. Could be used for manual labor, entertainment in sports, or sexual companion. No special instructions from the Dark Lord on Mudblood seventy-one."

Wormtail stopped reading that list, and pulled out another. The more deadly list, that said which Death Eater got a Mudblood when. First though, more threats about the Dark Lord's displeasure. That never got less terrifying.

"If any Death Eater touches another Death Eater's Mudblood without express permission, the collar on the Mudblood will harm the Death Eater. Any Death Eater not appreciating the gift of a Mudblood and treats the Mudblood in a manner deemed unworthy of the Dark Lord will be killed."

That part never made sense to Theo. How in the world could the Mudblood be treated in a way "deemed unworthy" of the Dark Lord?! How could one stoop so low as to offend the Dark Lord's delicate sensibilities? Theo realized it probably had more to do with ignoring the Dark Lord's special commands…like the ones he had for Granger.

"First Death Eater," Wormtail said, and paused, mainly for more attention, Theo thought savagely, "is number 6-7-1-1."

Never, in Theo's worst nightmare, would he have been called first at this ceremony, but here he was. Why, he thought as he stepped forward in a fog, the other Death Eaters buzzing in surprised behind him, was this happening to him? What had he done that was so remarkable?

"_We'll take it up with the Dark Lord, dearest,_" fairly screamed through his head, and he knew who he had to thank for this…_**honor.**_

Theo had moved up far enough. Everyone was staring at him. He couldn't even look at Tracey…he didn't want to see. No cushions, he had to choose any of the Mudbloods, although he probably wasn't approved by the Dark Lord for Granger. Any of them, and with this bizarre order, who knows if Montague would get called first before Flint or not; who knows if Montague could be counted on to save Katie Bell. Who knows what would happen to Tracey if he didn't take her. He did know what would happen to Granger though, if he didn't try.

"Do you wish to accept a gift from our Lord?" Wormtail asked him, nervous, as he always was.

He opened his mouth. He still had time to use Snape's line about not accepting a Mudblood. There were no rules saying he had to take one.

_You know what to do, Theodore,_ that internal voice said to him, almost ominously, and before he even knew what he was doing, he heard himself saying

"Yes, I will take Mudblood forty-seven, Hermione Granger."

Theo knew the room of Death Eaters must be reacting strongly to that, but he kept his expression blank and blocked it all out. He blocked out the staring from his "friends" and his real friend, Montague. He blocked out the Lestranges and his father Thaddeus. He blocked out the other Mudbloods staring, especially Tracey Davis and Katie Bell. He just stared at Granger and waited to be rejected by the Dark Lord's list.

Wormtail looked at his list, squinted, and said "Death Eater 6-7-1-1 approved for Mudblood forty-seven."

Oh, of course, Theo thought, and he almost laughed. Because nothing makes sense anymore, neither should this.

The background noise was now even louder, but he just kept staring impassively at Granger while she was dragged over to him and Wormtail. She still was looking at him like he was scum, and oddly, he liked it. It was the right way he should be looked at. She turned to Wormtail when he started talking to her, not meeting her eyes, and looked more furious than she had the entire time.

He would have to ask her what that was about, Theo thought, and then marveled at the bizarro world where he could demand Granger tell him things and she would have to tell him. Well no, he realized, she _wouldn't_ have to tell him, because he wouldn't _make_ her. And he wouldn't punish her for it either. He was scum, but he wasn't like the rest of them.

"Mudblood," Wormtail said, still not looking at her, "you are now the property of Death Eater 6-7-1-1."

Jugson grabbed her, more roughly than necessary, and Theo took a moment to nastily think about how Jugson was getting in his kicks grabbing Granger before he was no longer allowed to, and Travers put the steel band around her neck. Somehow, even while his number was being etched in the band, and the chain was being attached and given to him, Granger still managed to look like a queen who couldn't believe she was consorting with such peons.

_And now,_ the voice told him, and for once it almost sounded approving, _she won't have that stamped out of her._ Theo couldn't feel happy about that though, because he was still holding a goddamn leash on Granger like she was a mutt, and trying to look like he was just bloody thrilled about it so as not to arouse suspicion.

"Death Eaters," Wormtail said, "Mudblood number forty-seven, Hermione Granger, is now the sole property of Death Eater 6-7-1-1. You will not touch or harm Mudblood number forty-seven in any way, unless given permission by Death Eater 6-7-1-1, or you will suffer the Dark Lord's wrath."

And that was it, and now Theo had to lead Granger back to his spot like a mongrel while everyone jeered at her. She folded her arms and stuck her nose in the air, and looked like it didn't bother her in the slightest.

Theo somehow managed a smirk, and looked over at the Lestranges. They were beaming. He smiled and nodded his thanks. They nodded back. It hit him like a bomb.

Oh yes, the Lestranges had a weird fixation with him, and that's why he got first crack at the Mudbloods, but they were so happy now because they assumed, as a present, he would let them have a go at Granger. After all, with his permission, they could do what they wanted to her.

He looked away, fast, before his panicked look could manifest and give him away. This monstrous thought made most of the rest of the ceremony go by in blurs, with a few exceptions.

Snape, or the spy Death Eater he wasn't supposed to recognize through his mask as Snape, had just been called four Death Eaters after Theo, but that meant little. Snape would turn down his Mudblood like usual, so Theo was left to concentrate on maintaining a believable look of smugness.

"Yes," Snape replied to Wormtail's offer, "I will accept a Mudblood." He paused, ostensibly to stare at which Mudblood he was choosing.

Theo was flabbergasted. What was Snape playing at? He had been offered a Mudblood every single time before and always turned it down. And what was taking him so long, if he knew he wanted one? Didn't that mean he had one in mind, already?

Apparently not, because Snape, or Death Eater number 3-5-2, took another thirty seconds before saying, "I will take Mudblood forty-six, Tracey Davis."

Aidan shifted next to Theo uneasily, who studiously avoided looking at his friend and giving them away as Tracey was branded and handed over to Snape. This was unexpected, and either hopeful, or incredibly disheartening. The only two ways Theo could see it where as follows: Snape was a spy, but maybe not a spy on the Death Eater side, and maybe he had been hiding Tracey as a Mudblood for all these years and now he wanted to hide her again. Or, much worse, Snape hadn't known Tracey was a Mudblood, and wanted to take his fury on the deception out on her. Either way, Theo didn't look at Tracey. It wasn't his fault, he told himself. He could only save one, and Granger was in more danger.

He tried to keep repeating that to himself as the ceremony wore on, and Katie Bell kept being stared at more and more lavicously by Flint, and Pansy narrowed her eyes further and further at the Hogwarts Mudbloods, and when a fifth year Hufflepuff named Sherry Xanzer went to the Lestranges, and when Snape placed his clawlike hand on Tracey's shoulder in what looked to be a painful grip. But Pansy was called ten minutes later, and his little repetition wore thin and snapped.

Pansy, like Snape, couldn't seem to make up her mind. First she stared at the only Slytherin there besides Tracey Davis, a fourth year boy they all thought was of Austrian pureblood heritage, but whose name Theo couldn't quite remember. Then she stared down Su Li, and Megan Jones, both of whom hadn't been selected yet. Pansy hated them for different reasons. Being in Ravenclaw, Su was a clever Mudblood, so she brought up comparisons to the loathed Granger. Jones was a sweet natured Hufflepuff, and even had the rosy cheeks and wide eyes to prove it. Pansy however, stopped in front of a different Mudblood.

"I accept Mudblood fifty-four, Anthony Goldstein," she said, and smiled in a horrifying way. Goldstein looked ill, but not as ill as he should look, Theo thought. Underestimating Pansy, for sure. She was the only female Death Eater besides Bellatrix Lestrange, and she was tiny. She didn't look as intimidating, but that was her main danger.

The Most Excruciating Mudblood Gifting of All continued, hellishly and sluggishly, until Aidan was finally called. It was about time. Now he would pick Bell, and Theo could block out everything else that happened. There was one problem with Montague picking Bell, and it slipped Theo's thoroughly addled brain until his friend did the deed and a sharp intake of breath on Theo's right caught his attention.

Flint. How could he have _possibly_ forgotten Flint? Montague certainly hadn't, _and_ he knew Flint better than Theo did. It was a ballsy move, and Theo hadn't even realized it until now. Montague had just thwarted Flint's will, and knowingly. It was obvious Flint had been giddy about the prospect of taking Bell, obvious to everyone when he chose the Bell look-a-like, obvious when he had practically started salivating when he saw the real Bell. Perhaps, Theo thought in admiration as he stared at his friend's ramrod straight back, Aidan was a lot braver than Theo realized. Bell however, looked like she had just consumed a Skiving Snackbox and vomit was imminent. Of course, she couldn't know that Aidan had no bad intentions, Theo rationalized, she only knew him as Montague, the Slytherin Quidditch player who hated everything Gryffindor. She would know better soon enough, Theo reminded himself, and with this comforting thought he ignored Flint's hissed

"What the bloody fuck was that, Montague?" when Aidan returned in the circle.

Aidan didn't even dignify that with a response, beyond a smug look designed solely to fool everyone else observing. Riling Flint up was good for Aidan, but it wasn't good for the Mudblood Flint had now been authorized to choose.

Dear Salazar, don't let it be someone I know, Theo thought uselessly, and weakly. It didn't matter what he thought, because Flint took the blonde Megan Jones and he had to turn and stare at Granger to remind himself he had done the best he could.

She looked back at him, unreadable. Theo kept staring at her, because he didn't know what else he could do to keep himself from going insane. Granger raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, then something behind them distracted her and she turned. It was Draco, and he was red, as usual.

"You just wait, Mudblood," he hissed at Granger with loathing, "I'll have you soon. And then we'll see who's so smart."

As threats went, it was rather clichéd in Theo's opinion, but he had a job to do.

"Shut your stupid face, Malfoy," he shot back, and although it was dangerous to enrage Lucius Malfoy (who had heard him along with every Death Eater in range and who now looked apoplectic at the insult at his son) he felt strangely good about it anyway.

Thaddeus Nott, next to Lucius, smiled in approval at Theo. The Lestranges laughed, as did Pansy and Aidan. Theo kept glaring at Malfoy.

"Watch yourself, Nott," Draco threatened, but for once, Theo felt no power was being held over him from the Malfoy name. It was exhilarating.

"If you know what's good for you, which is doubtful," Theo murmured back, "you would stay away from me and the Mudblood. Or else you might find yourself missing a limb."

He turned back to the front, and Granger stared at him again, this time with speculation. Theo somehow shoved a look on his face that was half smirk and half glare, and she looked away with a sniff. Good. Had to make it look like he was standing up for her because he wanted to torment her himself, not because…well, not because he was rapidly turning into a blood traitor, and couldn't seem to do a thing to stop it, no matter how hard he tried to ignore that little internal voice.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I don't own anything blah blah.

Big Thanks to IdaMalfoy for making me see that I had originally written Montague as completely out of character in this chapter. She was very, very right.

**Chapter Seven: In Which Hermione Granger is Silenced**

Theo had a tight grip on the spot where Granger's shoulder met her neck as he steered her through the muttering Death Eaters and into the corridor beyond. He hadn't wanted to drag her by the chain attached to the collar on her neck like a mongrel, but he hadn't wanted to seem too nice by grabbing her arm, so he figured this was an acceptable compromise.

Granger's muscles were like steel—she clearly didn't want him to touch her, and he frankly agreed. Keeping up appearances was essential, however, and he must look like he was an inconsiderate jackass as much as possible.

His mind was on three things: getting Granger to his room without interruptions, maintaining a convincing sneer of superiority on his face, and figuring out what the fuck he was going to do with Granger once he got her to his room. For one wild moment, he saw himself telling her all about his heroic deed and plan to save her. He saw her eyes shine with relief and amazement. She flung her arms around him and proclaimed him brave enough to be a Gryffindor. She looked at him adoringly. And that was where the fantasy flickered out and died. Hermione Granger didn't look at _anyone _adoringly, except for maybe perfect Harry Potter and obviously, any book that was in her grasp, but certainly not _Slytherins_. Certainly not _Death Eaters_. Certainly not _Theo._ He sincerely doubted whether or not Granger even knew his name. She was a _Gryffindor_. She wouldn't think rescuing her from the Lestranges or Malfoys or Flints of the world was brave or honorable, she would think never becoming a Death Eater in the first place was the bare minimum requirement for bravery or honor. And he had already failed that. Besides, apart from his daydream being unlikely to come true, telling Granger the truth was also extremely foolhardy. She had no loyalty to him. _He_ knew he was saving her, but how would _she _know it? Why on Earth would she trust him? She wouldn't. Someone would find out; she would tell them. And then he would be dead.

Finally they were at his room, and he shoved her inside, a little harder than he meant to. She stumbled a bit on the rug, but righted herself, before spinning around and giving him a filthy look.

Theo avoided her gaze, and slammed his door shut, making sure it was locked and all silencing charms in place. Okay, so he wasn't going to tell her the truth. What the _hell _would he tell her? She was Granger. He would be grilled. Hell, he would be filleted. Her mouth _never stopped_ mov-Theo spun around.

She was glaring at him, her arms crossed. She wasn't talking now. The silencing charm that had been cast on her was still active. She had no wand. She couldn't remove it, only he could. And there was no way in hell that he was going to. Theo brought up his wand, and she flinched a tiny bit, than promptly looked enraged at herself for doing so. Theo forced himself to sneer at her, as he waved his wand and conjured a cot into midair then moved it to the corner of his room against the wall.

"You'll sleep there," he said, his voice unexpectedly harsh.

She kept glaring at him, lips pursed. Difficult. She was so difficult. Didn't she know how much worse it could have been for her?

"You'll sleep there, unless of course, you want to sleep with me," he leered, trying his hardest to imitate Flint. "I'm sure you've never experienced a proper pure-blooded wizard, Mudblood, but I'm willing to oblige."

As expected, she looked incredibly outraged, but flounced over to the cot with a silent huff.

"And there's no use in trying to escape, or trying to kill me," Theo informed her as he climbed into his own bed, rather earlier than intended. "You've had a dormant, action triggered Entrail-Expelling Curse cast on you, and if you try a damn thing all your insides will be on your outsides, and you'll die holding your own guts."

Granger stared coldly at him, but nodded once her understanding.

Theo stared at her, an eyebrow raised, until she laid down, then he blew out the lamp beside his bed. He lay tense, until he was sure he heard no movement from her bed, before he gradually relaxed. The hated little voice unexpectedly spoke up.

_You know you're not being very nice to her, Theo,_ it whispered snidely. _What's the point of saving her if you're threatening her and keeping her silent?_

_**I'm keeping her alive**__,_ he argued back, surprising even himself with the savagery of his inner voice. _**I never said I would be nice.**_

And with that the inner voice finally shut up, and Theo punched his pillow so it was fluffier and turned over, trying to sleep. This had been a terrible idea, and he couldn't fathom why he had come over all Gryffindor-ish all of a sudden. A Slytherin would never behave this way.

* * *

**Aidan Montague's Room**

**1:18 A.M.**

Montague looked at Bell. She looked determinedly in the other direction, staring at his wall tapestry.

"You at least prefer me to Flint, don't you Bell?" Montague asked abruptly.

Katie started slightly and looked at Montague. He watched her, expecting her to look back at the wall tapestry, but she maintained eye contact.

"Obviously," Katie said, raising an eyebrow. "But that's only because Flint is _insane_.

Of course, you're insane as well, but at least you haven't been as much of a raging _jackass _since Fred and George shoved you into that cabinet."

Montague flushed horribly, and jumped to his feet, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"You shut your mouth," he hissed, and Bell blanched and became rather pale, eyeing him warily.

"You think it's funny?" Montague continued, the flush creeping up his neck and invading his face. "They could've easily killed me. And what would have happened if they did? No one would have cared. No big loss to Dumbledore, right? He probably would've awarded those pestilent, flea-bitten Muggle lovers Special Awards for services to the school."

"Probably," Bell admitted, still looking shaken. "But I'm still glad you're not Flint." She gave an involuntary shudder.

Montague sat back down slowly, his expression cold and angry still. Katie avoided looking at him, twisting her hands in agitation in her lap.

"Do you think I would give you to Flint if you made me mad?" he asked Katie, his expression unreadable.

She continued to stare at the tapestry as Skoran the Scurvy attempted to conjure up citrus fruits and failed, keeling over dead on the S.S. Horklehump. Wizards really were quite daft about what they chose to portray on works of art.

"Wouldn't you?" Katie asked finally, carefully schooling her features and voice into neutral tones.

"If you make me angry enough," Montague said, still more coldly. "I would suggest you keep me happy in any way I ask."

She looked at him, frozen, as Skoran's body was washed overboard.

"Anything I want you to do," he elaborated, just in case she hadn't gotten it. "Anything. At any time."

"Like what?" Katie asked tonelessly, looking as colorless as Skoran the Scurvy, whose corpse was now being gnawed on by sharks.

Montague shrugged carelessly. "Whatever I feel like," he said, sounding as if he didn't care at all what she felt like.

"Quidditch practice?" Katie suggested hopefully, and a bit foolishly.

"If you're lucky," Montague replied nastily.

"What if I'm not lucky?" Katie pressed, Gryffindor brave and stupid all at once.

Montague stared at her, expressionless.

"Use your imagination, Mudblood. I know in Gryffindor brains aren't prized, but surely you can think of what else I could use you for."

Katie took a deep breath, looking sickened, at the tapestry. All the fight seemed gone, at least temporarily, out of her.

"But don't worry, Mudblood. I'm not really into filth. I mainly took you to piss off Flint."

"What?" Katie asked, her gaze returning to Montague, a glimmer of hope in her face again.

"You must know that we hate each other," Montague sneered. "The expression on his face was worth it for now, but you better hope that's enough for me. Otherwise I might change my mind and give you to Bletchley or something."

"Please don't," Katie said, hating herself for the desperate tone in her voice. Montague was really the lesser of evils when it came to the Slytherin ex-Quidditch players.

"Just keep me happy and we'll see if I want to keep you around," Montague snapped, as Bell looked at Skoran the Scurvy, who was now back trying to conjure oranges.

"Okay," Katie said, looking back at him. "Just…please don't give me to Flint, okay Montague? I'd rather it were Warrington or Bletchley or Bole or Higgs or…just anyone other than Flint, okay?"

Montague gazed at her, his face unreadable.

"What on Earth," he said slowly, "did Marcus Flint ever do to make you this scared of him?"

* * *

When Marcus Flint first saw Katie Bell, he knew she was the one. Not "the one" as in some soul mate vomit inducing bullshit, but "the one" as in "the one" who would turn him good.

Marcus Flint was bad, he knew this. His mother and father told him that ten times a day when he was home. Professor Snape told him at least once a week ever since he had started at Hogwarts. Even if he did not use the word "bad" Marcus knew what "highly undesirable behavior" meant. He wasn't anywhere near as stupid as everyone believed him to be. Even the other Death Eaters, crazy notorious murderers like the Lestranges, thought Marcus was bad. "Out of control" "...violent when violence was unneeded…" he knew what this meant.

He was sure being sorted into Slytherin would make him come into contact with those that would think him moral, and he was wrong. He was sure being made Quidditch Captain and winning the cup every year he was on the team (except the last, but he didn't like to think about that) would make him admired, and _worthy_, to his teammates and housemates, but he had been wrong again. And he had been one hundred percent sure becoming a Death Eater would make him noble to someone, somewhere, and that he had been most wrong about of all.

It didn't matter what he did. He saved first year Hufflepuffs from bullying fifth year Slytherins, and the Hufflepuffs had run away from scary Marcus Flint screaming. Sprout had given him detention for a week. He pet unicorns during Care of Magical Creatures, and was accused of casting hoodwinking spells on the unicorns. Kettleburn had forced him into scrubbing floors with Filch three days in a row. He received full marks on homework, and then received a lecture from Snape on how to cheat more discreetly (he hadn't cheated, but of course Snape didn't believe him) and received another week of detention cleaning out Snape's potion storage cabinet.

He tried to play a clean game of Quidditch and received six fouls from Madam Hooch for "the dirtiest game of Quidditch she had seen in years." All he had done was help Angelina Johnson back on to her broom after he had accidentally—and it had been in fact, a really unfortunately timed accident—run into her while trying to escape a bludger. Hooch had made him clean up the stands after the game, without magic.

It seemed Flint had been destined for depravity, until he had seen her one day flying. He had been scouting Wood's new team because he had kept hearing about the fantastic, famous first year Harry Potter, but Wood had been keeping him under wraps, saving him as a secret weapon. That hadn't stopped Marcus from watching Gryffindor practice without him as much as possible, and that was when he had first seen her. Angelina Johnson and the Weasley twins had all been on the team the year before as second years, but Alicia Spinnet, a third year who had been on the reserves the year before, and Katie Bell, a spindly second year, had not. It was a very young team, and Marcus would not have been very worried had Potter not been rumored to be so good. He had been squinting up through the stands he was hiding under, using his omnoculars, when he spotted her.

Wood was focusing on scoring drills with Spinnet, Johnson was dodging bludger drill with the Weasleys, the elusive Potter was again nowhere to be seen, and the last chaser, who could only be Bell, was running risky maneuvers on her broom. Even now, Marcus didn't know why that first sight of her had struck him so powerfully. She was pretty, he could see that through the omnoculars. But Bell—perhaps it was the combo of her graceful movements as she flew through the air, her beauty, her obvious innocence—but Bell looked angelic to him. Inhuman, instead of subhuman, as he thought of other girls.

Of course, Marcus wasn't blind. For all her obvious beauty, she was still a child. She was only a second year, she couldn't be more than thirteen at most. Marcus knew he wasn't a pedophile, he didn't like children, but it didn't matter. She was the one. She would turn him noble. It was unfortunate yes, that she was twelve or thirteen, and he was a month away from seventeen, but it didn't matter, not really. It presented problems of course. He didn't give Merlin's hairy balls what his teammates and fellow Slytherins said, it wasn't like they were his friends. He didn't care what the Gryffindors said to Katie, the kindest phrase he could use for them was "mortal enemies" and Katie wouldn't care what they said either. She would know what she and Marcus had together was too important to pay attention to naysayers. No, his only real problem was Snape. And possibly child sex laws.

Marcus watched Bell, now taking her turn trying to get the Quaffle past Wood, as a weird feeling filled his chest. The feeling felt unfamiliar, like a swooping, as if he had dove after a dropped Quaffle. Yet it felt full, like his heart and lungs were going to explode. It was exhilarating. He realized he must be in love. In love with Katie Bell, the girl who would turn him respectable. She would make him be nice to people. He would stop getting that black rage, the one that made him explode in a fit of violence he could barely remember. He would protect first years from bullies. He would do the right thing. He would fight evil. And it would all be because Katie Bell turned him good. Marcus might have to wait a year or so, if he could. But then…fourteen should be old enough. He would wait a year, and then he would take Katie Bell as his. And then he wouldn't be bad anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: In Which Marcus Flint Hatches a Plan**

"Katie," Marcus said as he entered his room, dragging Megan Jones behind him, "Look who it is. It's your friend Alicia."

Veronique looked up at him dully. She was wearing quite a bit of makeup, not to enhance her features, but to enhance her resemblance to Katie Bell. She was a Beauxbatons student, but wearing a Gryffindor uniform, and sporting a nasty black eye. Megan Jones started next to Flint, surprised but unable to say anything with her silencing charm still on.

"'Ello Alicia," Veronique responded timidly. She looked at Marcus for clues and hesitantly added, "I 'ave…missed you."

Flint strode forward and Veronique flinched away, sure she had said something wrong.

"What happened to your face, Katie?" Flint asked gently, tracing the bruises on her face that matched his hand a little too well.

"Eet waz…Bludger," Veronique said, looking down.

"You need to be more careful, Katie," Marcus said gently, pulling out his wand. His other arm wound its way around Veronique.

She tried very hard not to cringe, and failed. Luckily, Flint pretended he didn't notice, and healed her face.

"There," Flint said gently, "don't want to ruin your pretty face."

"Thank you Marcuz," Veronique said, forcing a smile on her face. It was better when he was like this. Much better. "Do you…want me to give…Alicia… a… makeover?"

She pulled the photograph out of her pocket, the one she had studied multiple times of three young girls in red and gold Quidditch uniforms. Flint finally glanced over at the horrified Megan Jones.

"Yes," he said to Veronique, as he eyed Megan, hard. "There's something I need to do, but when I come back, I want her makeover done." Marcus rarely broke character, but he did for a moment. "It's this one," he said gruffly, pointing to the girl on the right of the photograph unnecessarily. Veronique would have been able to figure this out for herself. "Make sure it's done when I get back."

"Of course Marcuz," Veronique said breathlessly, not able to believe she was getting off this easily. "I love you."

Marcus shot her an unreadable expression.

"Of course you do."

He got up to leave, not deigning to acknowledge Megan or remove her silencing charm. Flint turned back to look at Veronique.

"You've been pretty good. Maybe I'll make you the new Alicia when I get her back."

And on that enigmatic note, he left. Veronique stared at the new, highly terrified and crying girl. She thought they would be allies, but if she had just interpreted Flint correctly, they were in competition. And if Veronique was anything, she was a survivor.

* * *

The yellowish claw-like hand on her shoulder suddenly contracted more tightly, and Tracey was brought out of her reverie with a wince of pain. Snape. How had she not recognized her Head of House immediately during the ceremony? Probably the panic clouding her ability to detect grease, she mused.

She was thrown unceremoniously into a bedroom and fell on the floor, skinning her knees. She looked up at Snape reproachfully, still not able to speak. Professor Snape flung the door closed, muttering a few spells as he did so, and snatched the mask and hood from his face.

"You abominably foolish girl," he hissed, his dark eyes sparkling with disgust as if she were a damn _Gryffindor_ or something. "You insipid little idiot." He stalked closer to where she crouched on the ground, clearly enraged. "How could you have been so slow, so dim-witted, as to go to Hogsmeade when things are clearly so dangerous?"

Tracey made an impatient gesture—Snape was being very unfair—after all, hadn't Daphne and Sally-Anne and Lisa been there as well?

"No I will not remove your silencing charm," Snape hissed, his voice going lower as it always did when he was getting angrier. "You've been caught by Death Eaters, outed as a Slytherin Muggleborn who has been shielded by me for six years. Or," Snape paused, his finger tracing his mouth as he stared at the silent and crouched Tracey, "or I've been fooled, the same as everyone else by your heritage." Snape stepped closer to Tracey, looming over her. "So either I am a fool, or I am a traitor. Which do you think is better, Miss Davis?"

Snape pulled out his wand and flicked, and Tracey felt the silencing charm break.

"Can they prove that you knew, sir?" she asked quietly, her voice hoarse from misuse. "You can say Dumbledore forced you," she offered half-heartedly. "I mean…there are more of us, aren't there?"

Snape paused a second, a peculiar expression passing his face. Tracey got the impression she had actually impressed him. She had. Snape had not expected her to understand what he had already deduced as the only reasonable plan.

"Very good, Miss Davis," Snape said slowly, his gaze over her head and faraway. "Very good. Yes, that could work—I can control what you say and I can control myself—but I can't control the other Muggleborns." Snape's face snapped back to her harshly, his eyebrows drawing together, "So I knew what you were all along, but I was forced to do something I loathed by a man I loathe more in order to retain my status as Potions Master and spy. Do you understand?"

Tracey nodded, suddenly afraid. She wasn't stupid, and she knew where this was going.

"Do you really, Miss Davis? I hated hiding you. You and your kind disgust me. In fact, I loathe you so thoroughly, so completely, that I refuse to loan you to any other Death Eater. I cannot abide anyone harming you, because I wish so badly to do it myself. Do you understand now?"

Tracey nodded again, a wave of relief sweeping her. She understood. Professor Snape would protect her again. She was safe.

"Good," Snape said, as his empty black eyes seared into her. He raised his wand, and then Tracey began screaming in pain.

* * *

Marcus Flint stormed down the corridor, his face black with rage, his hulking, massive body seeming even more enormous from his fury. He stopped before a door on the seventh floor, and hammered on it with his gargantuan fist. He hammered for a full minute before the door flew open, and Pansy stood there, her hair uncharacteristically askew, her clothes strange, revealing Muggle clothes that Flint had never seen before. Since Pansy's flesh interested him perhaps even less than it interested Theo, he was able to ignore her attire completely.

"You hate Montague, right?" he growled.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. Towering over Pansy as he did, Flint could see into her heinous grape colored room and the strange tableau within. If he had been Aidan Montague, he would have been shocked for a full five seconds before he made a snide remark. If he had been Theodore Nott, he would have choked on his own saliva. If he had been Draco Malfoy, he wouldn't have surprised at all. As he was Marcus Flint, he didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. After all, the most normal things weren't going on in his chambers either.

"Of course," Pansy responded, "I should have thought that was obvious."

The earlier calm Veronique had inspired in Flint was rapidly dissipating, his previous rage returning. He wasn't going to let this little pug-faced bitch talk to him like he was stupid. He was through with Slytherin girls and their pedigrees looking down on him. But he needed her help, so he clenched his fists at his sides, forcing himself to calm down. Pansy's eyes flickered downwards, and her sneering expression altered. Even if she was braver than most, she wasn't fool enough to not be afraid of Marcus Flint. She had heard the stories.

"I wasn't aware that you did though," she covered, her expression smoothing into more neutral tones. "Didn't you make him Quidditch Captain?"

Flint appeared to not be listening to her anymore, which aggrieved Pansy highly. Her words should always be hung on.

"And didn't you listen to him on your raids?" she prompted, testy again as Flint kept looking blankly over her head.

Flint's expression darkened, and Pansy became a little uneasy. She glanced behind her. Surely, _surely_ Flint of all people, wouldn't be judging her on this?

"Mudbloods," she snapped and Henry Dukes and Anthony Goldstein stared at her, scared and humiliated at being witnessed, "make yourselves decent. We have company."

As they went to do her bidding, Pansy turned back to Flint, adjusting her cleavage, which was on the process of spilling out. Of all the luck. _Marcus Flint _had to be the one to see her this way. If only Theodore had shown up, bringing that buck-toothed Mudblood bitch…then they would have had some fun. Maybe she would have even given her Mudbloods a turn at Granger as a reward.

"Care to come in to chat, Flint?" Pansy asked, casually, as Dukes and Goldstein cowered in the furthest away corner in their outfits that covered little more than had previously been covered.

"He can't have her," Flint hissed suddenly, the words bursting out of him against his will. "He can't. I won't let that bastard ruin her."

It took Pansy a little time to catch on to what Flint was talking about, and she would have caught on sooner if her own mind hadn't been preoccupied with Granger and Theo. _Had he had her yet already…?_

"I'm telling you I won't let him touch her," Flint spat, looking wilder and wilder by the second. "Not even if I have to-"

"For Merlin's sake Flint," Pansy hissed, attempting to yank his enormous bulk into her room by the front of his robe and failing miserably. "Not here."

Flint grunted his understanding and followed her into the room. She slammed the door and Goldstein and Dukes cringed further.

"Idiot," she hissed, "you know there are no secrecy spells out there. Anyone could have heard you."

"I don't care," Flint snarled, and as he started pacing, he pulled out his ever present knife and started smacking the flat side of the blade against his palm in his agitation. He ignored the cringing Mudbloods completely. Pansy watched him, more than little nervous. Maybe she shouldn't have let him in her room…with the door shut.

"She's pure," Flint said, as he rounded her flouncy purple armchair for the eighth time. "I know you wouldn't know a thing about that Parkinson."

"You shut your fucking mouth," Pansy hissed dangerously, and a bit unwisely.

Flint ignored her.

"She's like…" Flint paused, his knife mid-slap, his eyes faraway and almost…dreamy?

Surely not, Pansy thought, Marcus Flint didn't do dreamy.

"She's just like…just this…" the knife dropped to his side as he attempted to articulate, which was obviously hard for the big dumb troll, Pansy thought meanly. "She's like an angel," gushed out of Flint in a rush, "she's good and pure and she makes everything-_everyone,_ good and pure and like her, and I won't have that filthy bastard putting his foul hands on her and ruining her."

Pansy was flabbergasted. She though Flint was incapable of such thoughts, nevermind such _speech. _Little was she to know she and her silent Mudbloods had just witnessed the most eloquent spiel Flint had ever uttered.

"Are we talking about _Katie Bell_, Flint?" Pansy demanded. "The _Gryffindor_? The Gryffindor _Mudblood_?"

Flint glared at her. "I should have thought that would have been obvious."

"Touche," Pansy admitted. Since when had Flint been witty? Or indeed, thought at all? It was most surprising. "I suppose she looks decent, for a Mudblood Gryffindor," sniffed Pansy, which from her was high praise indeed. "But she's really not that special, Flint. You could find a hundred better Slytherin girls."  
"You're all rotted," Flint said heavily, ignored Pansy's outraged squawk. "We all are. That's why I need her."  
It was more than Flint had ever admitted to anyone, as he had no friends, past or present.

"Well what do you expect you can do about it, Flint," Pansy said reasonably. "You know you can't kill another Death Eater."

Flint grunted, his previous eloquence lost.

"At least," Pansy said slowly, an idea coming to her, "not openly anyway."

Flint looked at her hopefully. This was why he had come to Pansy—he didn't particularly like her, but she could think. He knew he was usually only good for brute strength.

"What do you want in return?" Flint asked her, his gaze finally going to the Mudbloods.

"In return for my help?"

"No, you'd give that to me anyway. You hate Montague."

Flint looked at Pansy again, his expression frightening her more than she had been when she met the Dark Lord.

"I want to know what you want for keeping quiet."

"You know I wouldn't out myself for outlawed murder," Pansy said, rolling her eyes.

"I meant for keeping quiet about Katie. About everything I said about her."

"Don't want everyone to know the monster has a heart?" Pansy sneered.

Flint just stared at her, waiting.

"I don't want anything," she snapped, annoyed at her attempts to hurt Flint failing.

Goldstein made a distressed noise, possibly at the thought of Katie Bell's imminent fate, and their attention was diverted.

"We need to keep the Mudbloods quiet too," Flint said, drawing up his knife. "Want me to cut out their tongues for you?"

"No, please!" Henry Dukes begged.

"Please Pansy, please don't let him," Goldstein added, panic in his voice and tears in his eyes.

"Of course I won't," Pansy said, moving toward Flint. "You have better uses for them, don't you Mudbloods?" They both nodded frantically, seemingly beyond words. "Although if Goldstein doesn't shape up Marcus, I might take you up on that."

"I'll practice," Anthony croaked, regretting bitterly that he had wanted some damn sugarquills that day in Hogsmeade.

"I know you will," Pansy said, sickeningly sweet.

Anthony failed to point out her sudden resemblance to Umbridge. He valued his tongue.

"Anyway Flint, don't be a simpleton," Pansy said irritably, "they could still write. And also…" she stalked closer to them, her breasts threatening to explode out of her top at every step. "Mudbloods, I forbid you to speak or communicate about this in any way." She turned back to Flint, amused. "Did you fail to read the fine print, Marcus? Big surprise."

"Forgot," Flint shrugged.

"But don't worry Flint," Pansy said, returning to their previous topic, "I'm not going to say a word."

"No you won't," Flint agreed. "Not if I give you what you want."

"I don't want anything," Pansy reminded him.

"You want Theo."

* * *

**Hogwarts**

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stood next to each other in grim silence outside of Dumbledore's office, the gargoyle guarding the staircase staring at them judgmentally. Hermione hadn't returned from Hogsmeade. Neither had Anthony Goldstein, Megan Jones, Su Li, and shockingly, Tracey Davis. And that was only the missing students from their year. Harry's Quidditch teammate Katie Bell had vanished as well. Harry and Ron had been, most unfortunately in their minds, and fortunately in other's minds, stuck at Hogwarts serving detention with Professor Sprout for forgetting to do their last homework assignment, and had not been around to join Hermione in Hogsmeade. If they had…

Harry sighed heavily as he and Ron made their way up the revolving staircase, and knocked on Dumbledore's door. He blamed himself for everything, and he knew Ron blamed himself as well. If only they hadn't pushed off that assignment for Sprout, counting on her to be lenient like she usually was, if only they had listened to Hermione about doing their mound of homework on time, if only they had been there to help her fight, or at least to distract the Death Eaters from her…

"Come in," Dumbledore's voice called from within his office.

The two boys walked in somberly. McGonagall was sitting across from Dumbledore, and she looked more shaken then either boy had ever seen her.

Ron and Harry slouched over to where McGonagall had conjured two more chairs next to her for them to sit. Dumbledore surveyed them over his spectacles.

"Harry, Ron…I have some difficult news for both of you."

McGonagall shifted, her eyes looking red-rimmed. "Is this really necessary to tell them, Albus?" she murmured, obviously picking up a previous argument.

"I'm afraid it is, Minerva," Dumbledore replied sadly. "I think it is only fair that they hear the truth, no matter how difficult it is to fathom."

"Where's Hermione?" Ron blurted out, cutting off the professor's debate. "Where have they taken her?"

"We know Snape must know," Harry added, staring at the floor in misery. "He's spying for them, isn't he?"

McGonagall started, looking rapidly from the boys to Dumbledore. "How did you…" she started to say, and then caught herself.

"That is what I am trying to explain," Dumbledore said yet more gently. "I am afraid…I have just received news of what became of the captured Muggleborn students in Hogsmeade, as well as the fate of my brother, Aberforth, who was kidnapped, and the captured non Muggleborn students."

Harry's gaze snapped from the carpet to Dumbledore, and Ron drew in a sharp breath, both boys leaning forward in their chairs toward Dumbledore.

"Aberforth is being used as a bargaining tool, in an attempt to blackmail me," Dumbledore began, although he knew this wasn't the information the boys really cared about.

"Yes but what about Hermione?" Ron demanded.

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall began to admonish him, before Dumbledore cut her off.

"I am getting to that, Mr. Weasley. The students were taken by Death Eaters to Lord Voldemort's fortress, and are being either coerced into joining the Death Eaters, or they are being forced into servitude to the Death Eaters, depending on their lineage."

"So the Muggleborns are slaves?" Harry asked, his voice low and a trifle deadly.

Dumbledore hesitated a moment.

"Yes," he said quietly.

"Has Snape got Hermione then?" Harry questioned, his voice still low.

"_Professor_ Snape was planning on taking Miss Granger, but he was unfortunately too late. There is apparently a hierarchy in these matters, and he was too late. Miss Granger had already been chosen."

"Who? By whom was Miss Granger chosen?" and now it was McGonagall demanding answers from Dumbledore.

"It was apparently Mr. Nott," Dumbledore replied.

"That old man?" Harry asked.

"No…" Dumbledore said, looking even sadder for some reason, "it was his son, your classmate Theodore."

At these words, for some reason, Harry noticed McGonagall looked less upset.

"Is he one of ours then?" Harry asked, assuming from McGonagall's reaction that Nott could have been another spy.

"No," Dumbledore answered, his voice soft, "but I have hope, based on our inside intelligence, that he is not as dangerous as some of the others."

Ron had sunk his head into his hands, silent throughout this revelation. Finally he looked up at Dumbledore.

"So what's the plan?" he asked. "How are we getting her back?"

**A/N:** Can I just tell you how delighted I am with the reviews? Very delighted. Especially since less people read this than "Exitus Acta Probat" yet more people comment on it. So yay to you all.

Thanks to IdaMalfoy for her great work as a beta.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: In Which Katie Bell Thinks Like a Slytherin**

**One Week Later**

Theo methodically straightened his hair, before pulling up his hood and ruining the whole effect. He brushed invisible lint off his robes, quadruple checked his holstered wand, and finally picked up his mask, turning slowly against his will. She was staring at him just like he thought she would be.

"See anything you like?" he sneered. "I know a ginger blood traitor and a four-eyed half-blood aren't much to look at, but control your lust Mudblood. It sickens me."

Granger's lips thinned out, her nose wrinkled, clearly unimpressed, but still, after a week, unable to express it. Perhaps he should research in his spare time the effects of an un-lifted silencing charm.

Granger sat on her cot, her hair neatly braided yet frizzing out of control as usual, her Hogwarts uniform clean and pressed, a stack of books beside her. He was being too nice to her. Anyone who saw her could tell that in a microsecond. He was feeding her, making sure she was clean, not hurting her, and he was even giving her books, for Merlin's sake. The only thing she could possibly complain about was boredom. Or maybe losing her voice. He really had to research that.

A knock sounded on the door, and Theo started. _Oh Merlin_. He had purposefully been ridiculously early for everything for the past week, just to avoid this. He strode to the door as Granger eyed it with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Theo cracked the door an inch.

"What?" he snapped, before he recognized Montague.

Aidan raised his eyebrows at the hostility, and pushed past him into the room.

"Oh hello, Granger. I see your hair is as tragic as always."

Theo rolled his eyes. He had been growing more and more on edge recently. He was worried Granger was suspecting him of being soft, which was incredibly dangerous. Her silent, watchful staring, combined with Malfoy's venom and the Lestranges expected favor was causing him to slowly lose his grip on sanity.

"And that outfit! So last Hogwarts year."

"Please, shut up Montague," Theo ground out through his teeth. He had a feeling he wasn't the only one losing his shit. Flint had been following Aidan around lately, and it was making him twitchy and unpredictable.

"What, no acerbic retort?" Aidan asked Granger, astonished as she gazed at him sourly, and silently. "You certainly aren't doing Malfoy's stories justice."

Granger gestured towards her throat, her expression yet sourer.

"Theo, you haven't lifted the silencing charm?" Montague asked, surprised.

"Like I want to listen to that bitch," Theo snarled. He thought his Flint impression was getting pretty damn good.

"Ah, just took her to piss of Malfoy then?" Montague asked him knowingly. "Just like I did with Bell. It is sweet to thwart those prats, isn't it Theo?"

Theo almost kissed him. Merlin, Montague was brilliant. He had just gift wrapped him an out in two sentences.

"Yeah, it was worth it to see that wanker soil himself," he laughed harshly, "but I have no other use for her."

"Not interested in sampling Mudblood delicacy?" Montague asked crudely.

Granger looked revolted.

"Unlike some, I have standards," Theo sniffed.

"Yeah, I've heard Pansy has almost worn hers out," Aidan laughed.

Theo distinctly saw Granger mouth the word "cow" to herself and had to bite hard on his tongue to keep himself from laughing. Hermione Granger wasn't supposed to be _funny._

"I should bring my Mudblood over," Aidan said suddenly, his eyes trying to convey something to Theo. "They can have a little filth party while we are on the raid."

Theo caught on. If Bell was in his room, they could go to Aidan's room and finally be able to talk in peace. The silencing charms were nowhere else besides the private bedroom chambers.

"Sure," Theo said, with an attempt at appearing nonchalant, "not like the animals can do anything without our permission."

They both laughed. They were getting damn good at this heartless thing.

Aidan left the room again to get Bell, and Theo walked over to his desk and began straightening the items on it, although they were perfectly straight. If she didn't already think so, Granger was going to start thinking that he had a problem with orderliness. He didn't, he just didn't know what else to do to avoid looking at her. Her gaze bored holes into his back as he shifted his quill and ink set minutely to its left. Mercifully, Aidan returned in a timely manner, dragging Katie Bell, who looked, to Theo's feelings of conflicted relief and fear, as unharmed as Granger did. Theo finally chanced a look at Granger again. Her whole face had lit up as had Bell's face as they stared at each other.

"Have fun amusing each other Mudblood," Aidan sneered, shaking Bell from his grip on her arm. "I really can't stand having you in my sight one second longer today." He shoved Bell to the floor, and Granger looked outraged. Bell however, Theo noticed with surprise, was remaining on the floor, meekly averting her eyes from Theo or Aidan. _What was that all about? _He looked at Montague.

"Let's go," he said roughly, "the smell in here is making me ill."

They laughed meanly together again, and left Theo's room, the door locking and warding behind them. Immediately, they apparated to the corridor outside Aidan's room, and Montague let Theo inside. Finally. They could talk in peace.

* * *

As soon as the two Death Eaters started to leave, Hermione sprang forward and made to help Katie off of the floor, but she was already getting up.

"Are you okay?" Katie asked her in a low voice, although no one could possibly hear them in there.

Hermione nodded, and Katie gave a half-sob and rushed forward, gripping Hermione in a tight hug. The two girls reluctantly broke away after a minute or so, and Hermione gestured to the large couch in the sitting area of the room. They sat close to each other, and grasped hands. They had never been particularly close before, but now they were all the other had.

"What's he been doing to you?" Katie asked in a rush, taking in Hermione's neat appearance intently. She didn't give Hermione a chance to speak, but plowed onward quickly.

"Montague hasn't done a thing to me. This is the first time I've even left the room, although he keeps saying he's going to start forcing me to go around the rest of this place with him. But he hasn't hurt me or…he hasn't…" Katie trailed off, uncomfortable. "I was sure they were going to rape us," she mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the couch.

She chanced a look at Hermione.

"Has he…has…well I don't even know his name, the one who has you, but has he…" she trailed off again and Hermione shook her head in the negative to the unspoken question. "I mean, Montague keeps threatening me," Katie continued, as if she were trying to explain her earlier, un-Gryffindor meekness after Montague had shoved her. "He keeps saying he's going to give me to someone… _else_…if I don't make him happy." She couldn't even bring herself to say Flint's name. "But he hasn't asked me to do anything! I don't know what to do to make not trade me. He can't! He can't give me to—" Katie drew a deep shuddering breath, than seemed to comfort herself a little. "What should I do?" she whispered, starting desperately at Hermione, who was still not responding. "I'm sorry," Katie said, misinterpreting her silence, "I'm being so selfish, there is no way you're getting it as easy as I am. What's been happening to you?"

Hermione shook her head.

"What?" Katie asked, now getting scared for her friend. Was it too terrible for her to even speak of? "What's he been doing to you, Hermione?" she asked urgently.

Hermione shook her head more violently, then stood up and walked to Theo's writing desk, picking up his quill and a blank roll of parchment.

"I'm not going to think any less of you if he's been forcing himself on you," Katie said fiercely, "you know I won't. It's all about survival, isn't it?"

Hermione spun around, quill and parchment in hand, and gestured to her throat. It took Katie a moment, and then she gasped.

"He didn't lift the silencing charm yet?"

Hermione shook her head a third time, and then returned to the couch whilst scribbling furiously on the parchment.

"Wait," said Katie suddenly, "maybe you shouldn't write anything. He's going to find it."

Hermione pointed to the fireplace, not looking up as she continued to scribble. Finally, she shoved the parchment in front of Katie, who bent her head and read.

_Nott hasn't done anything to me either. He insults me a lot and he hasn't lifted the charm, but he's barely here, and he doesn't look at me at all most of the time he is here. He hasn't even threatened to give me away._

Katie looked up. "What are they playing at?" she said slowly, "What are they doing? If they were trying to help us, they would be nicer to us, wouldn't they? I mean, they would tell us what they are doing, right? It's not like we are allowed to tell anyone anything if they don't want us to."

Hermione rapidly wrote something else, and Katie read:

_That's what I thought too. But why else aren't they hurting us?_

"Maybe they just don't have the stomach for it. Just because they follow You-Know-Who… I mean they just might believe in the pureblood nonsense, but not really enjoy torture. It's possible."

_Maybe,_ Hermione wrote.

"They probably did just take us to make Malfoy and Fl- Warrington mad."

_Probably,_ Hermione wrote. She then added,_ but do you know what this means? We can work with this._

"What do you suggest?" Katie asked excitedly. "I've been thinking of some things myself."

Hermione wrote furiously for a few minutes, than thrust the parchment back at Katie. _If we can make them get used to us, tolerate us even, it would be much easier to trick them into helping us escape. They aren't as ruthless as the others. Maybe we can manipulate that._

"Forget making them tolerate us," Katie said, voicing an idea she had been harboring. "Let's make them _love_ us."

* * *

"What the hell are we going to do?" Aidan practically screamed at Theo as soon as they door closed behind them.

"How long do we have until the raid?" Theo asked tersely, and Aidan checked his pocket watch.

"Twenty minutes."

"Not a lot of time to develop a plan."

"I know," Montague said, sounding more unhinged by the moment, "and we have to have one. Flint has been following me around looking like a psychopath. Bell's getting suspicious, I can tell, of why I'm being so nice to her. Warrington keeps asking me if he can borrow her. And Mulcibur—_Mulcibur_ asked me when—and I quote—I was 'bringing the pretty filth to dinner' so they could all look at her."

Montague was pacing agitatedly around the room, tearing at his hair, looking deranged. "What the _fuck _were we thinking, Theo? I don't even know where to start."

"I know," Theo said, somehow feeling calmer even though he had been counting on Montague to have a plan. "But we did it. Now we have to see it through."

"I swear to Merlin," Aidan said, flinging himself on the couch and burying his head in his hands, "I am two seconds away from just giving her to Flint and washing my hands of the whole thing."

"No you're not," Theo snapped, startling even himself. "Have you seen what Flint's done to his two?"

"How could I not?" Montague asked despairingly.

"So are you going to do that to Bell?" Theo asked, now really angry. This had all been Montague's idea in the first place.

"Of course I'm not," Montague said heatedly, "but I don't know what else to do! D'you know I can't go anywhere, _anywhere _without Flint breathing down my neck? And Pansy's been having one of her Mudbloods follow me around too."

"What? Why?" Theo asked, astonished.

"No idea," said Montague morosely, "and I don't really care. Pansy's the least of my troubles."

"I still think," Theo said slowly, "we should consider just telling our Mudbloods what we're doing. We can forbid them from telling anyone anyway."

"No!" Montague said vehemently, leaping to his feet again. "No, Theo! Don't be an idiot. There are always ways around things like that. They could figure out a way to blow our covers. And you know we're going to have to start parading them around the others. People are already wondering why we're not, almost everyone else does."

"The Lestranges don't," Theo pointed out.

"The Lestranges don't need to prove anything," Montague burst out in a half-yell, "everyone knows how crazy they are! But say we bring the Mudbloods in public, and they can't tell anyone anything, they can still give us away even if they don't want to!"

"They won't be able to act like they're afraid of us," Theo said, in horrified realization. He had wanted _so badly_ to just spill it out to Granger, to get her to sop looking at him like that…

"Exactly," said Aidan grimly, "they're _Gryffindors_. They can't lie worth a damn. Ten minutes left," Montague added abruptly, after checking his watch.

"So what are we going to have to do to make them afraid of us in front of the others?" Theo asked, a growing wave of nausea forcing its way through him.

"I don't know."

"Well," said Theo slowly, "maybe we could-" a knock on the door interrupted him.

Theo and Aidan looked at one another, alarmed, and the knock sounded again, louder and more impatient. Aidan strode to the door and flung it open irritably.

"What do you _want_ Parkinson?" he snapped.

Pansy looked sour. "It's time for the raid, doofus," she sneered, "or did you forget?"

"We've got at least four minutes," Montague snarled, "why the hell are you here?"

"As co-leader of our raid," Pansy sneered, "I expect everyone to be on time."

Theo felt his feeling of dread increase. The raid needed so many Death Eaters that Pansy's group and Aidan's group were being forced to join forces, which Theo thought could only lead to disaster.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Pansy asked, peering around Montague. "How's your Mudblood doing? Everyone's been curious about what you've been doing with her."

Aidan blocked her with his arm. "She's not here. She's in Theo's room."

"_Theo's_ room?" Pansy asked, a strange expression on her face. "You're lending her to Theo? Granger not satisfying him?"

"Why don't you ask him," Aidan grit out through his teeth. "And while we're chatting, care to explain why you have that Mudblood of yours following me around?"

"I thought we were getting to the raid?" Theo said as he strode forward, attempting to defuse the tension between the two. The raid was going to go horribly if the two of them didn't stop bickering.

"Theo," Pansy said, surprised, "you're not in your room?"

"Yeah he is," Montague said sarcastically, "this is my cunningly disguised Pygmy Puff that I've trained to walk and talk."

Pansy shot him a filthy look. "I was only wondering," she said coolly, "because I sent someone to his room to get him for the raid."

"You sent someone to his room?" Aidan said, turning his back on Pansy and shooting Theo a petrified look.

Pansy looked between the two of them, from Aidan's bulging eyes to Theo's chalky complexion. "What's the big deal?" she asked, irritated at being left out of anything.

Theo felt some of his terror melting away when he was able to start thinking logically. No one could get into his room without someone letting them in. And there was absolutely no way that Hermione Granger was stupid enough to answer a random knock on his door. Montague however, still seemed to be in the grip of the deepest terror as he turned to Pansy and demanded:

"_Who did you send_?"

* * *

Hermione stared at Katie. Katie stared at Hermione. Hermione's eyebrows were raised so far on her forehead they were almost indistinguishable from her hairline.

"What?" Katie asked defensively. "I think it's a great idea. I'm not saying it will be easy, or enjoyable, but it's making the best out of a horrible situation and getting what we want."

Hermione snorted, and took to scribbling on her parchment as Katie looked over her shoulder. She had just started writing _And how exactly do you propose that we convince two bigots to fall in love with two Mudbloods_ when a knock sounded on the door.

Normally, good manners and good sense dictated that if someone knocked on your door, you answered it. In this situation however, good sense dictated cowering in a corner, ignoring the door completely. Unfortunately, while they had many fabulous qualities, Gryffindor house and its inhabitants frequently lacked good sense. Hermione Granger was one of the few exceptions to this rule. Katie Bell, alas, was not. Hermione had leapt across the room to fling the parchment deep into the fire, desperate to destroy the evidence, and therefore was completely unprepared to stop Katie from doing something incredibly foolish and unexpected. She had just turned around in time to see Katie moving towards the door, and she forgot for a moment that she could not speak, and attempted to shout at her while lunging toward the door to stop Katie, too late.

Katie opened the door, while she said "I thought you weren't going to be back until later Mont-" and stopped in shock. It wasn't Montague.

It was Marcus Flint.

* * *

**A/N:** If you couldn't tell by the ending, expect shit to start going down. Thanks to everyone for the reviews, they warm my soul and encourage me to write, as well as give me food for thought on what I am doing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten: In Which Oliver Wood Saves the Day**

**Hogwarts**

**Five Years Earlier**

Katie Bell was three weeks away from turning thirteen, and in her opinion, this was a very advanced age to be. In all of her (alleged) long life, she had not remembered having a better day. Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and she only a second year, and today, Oliver Wood had just told her she had shown great promise during practice. Oliver Wood! Quite possibly her dream boy. He was cute, he was nice, and he was obsessed with Quidditch. Frankly, that's what Katie's idea of utter perfection was. Bounding up the stairs to the Owlery, a long letter to her older sister clutched in her hand, there was no time for her to avoid barreling into the large figure coming down the staircase in front of her.

"Ow!" she yelled, as she hit what felt like a wall of brick and tripped down a few steps, onto her rear.

Pushing her scraggly hair out of her eyes, she looked up. And up. And up at the menacing figure looming over her in the stairwell. It was Marcus Flint. She had never interacted with him personally, but everyone in Gryffindor with even a smidgeon of interest in Quidditch knew who he was. Katie froze as Flint stared at her, his dark eyes glinting oddly.

"Oh um…sorry," she offered tentatively. "I guess I wasn't paying attention."

Flint stared with his fathomless eyes a moment longer, and Katie cringed further in the staircase. No one knew where she was right now! And she might be a second year, but she had learned all she needed to know about Slytherins and their thoughts on her lineage last year.

"That's okay, Katie," Flint said suddenly, and she almost fell down another step with the shock of it. He attempted a smile at her, but his eyes and his teeth only made this act look more terrifying than his former stare. "You must be very excited at how well practice went today."

"What?" Katie said, her astonishment increasing. How did he know how practice went? And Marcus Flint knew her _name_?

"I was watching you today. And on Tuesday. You're really very good," and then he reached down with one of his meaty hands and held it out to Katie.

Katie stared at it a moment, than tentatively placed her hand in his, and Flint helped her off the ground.

"Thanks," she said, attempting a smile of her own. She couldn't believe it. From what Oliver had told her, and the Weasley twins, and every member of Gryffindor, ever, Marcus Flint was a horrible troll that didn't talk to anyone unless it was to torment them in some way. His Quidditch team was notoriously brutal, and he spent every pre-game handshake trying to grind Oliver's bones into powder.

Flint smiled wider as well, and this time it seemed to make his face significantly less frightening. "You're Muggleborn, aren't you?" he asked her.

Katie stiffened. She _knew_ this friendly thing had to be an act. "So?" she said frostily, crossing her arms.

"Oh I don't care," Flint assured her, "I think it's great you are so good at Quidditch when you haven't played very long."

"Thanks!" Katie said again, beaming. Her posture relaxed. She couldn't wait to tell the team about this! Maybe they were all wrong about Marcus Flint. Maybe he was a nice guy after all. Just a bit of a bad boy, with a bad rap. After all, not all of the Slytherins could be bad.

"And my parents won't care either," Flint said to her, his tone still conveying assurance. "So you won't have to worry about that."

"Sorry?" Katie said, confused. She had a feeling she hadn't heard Flint right.

"My parents," Flint said again, "they are purebloods, but they won't care that you're parents are Muggles. They just want me to be less bad, and I will be because of you."

Katie stared at him, speechless, shrinking into the wall behind her again. This was a joke. This had to be a joke.

"Funny," she choked out, cursing herself for how shaky her voice was, "really funny Flint."

Flint frowned at her, his brow furrowing, and stepped closer. "It's not funny," he said seriously, in his gruff voice, "this is serious Katie. I expect you to be serious about this. You might be young now, but in a few years, when we get married—"

"Are you _crazy_?" Katie shouted, backing down a step. "Get _away_ from me Flint, get away!" and she ran back down the stairs, Flint staring after her in silence.

* * *

**Hogwarts Library**

**A Few Months Later**

Katie sighed as she scratched out a line in her Potions essay. Leave it to Snape to assign a horrible essay to the second years right before the Gryffindor Slytherin Quidditch match, when she was the only member of either team in second year. Leanne, who was sitting next to her, sighed as well.

"I need _Best Potions of the Sixteenth Century_," Brenda whispered from across the table, ripping her parchment in half in frustration.

"I'll get it," Katie whispered back, standing up, "I need a quick break."

She got up and walked deep between the stacks, into the musty potions section. She bent over, scanning the shelves for the old tome, when she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up inexplicably. Someone was behind her. She just knew it.

"Hi Katie," Flint's gravelly voice whispered from over her shoulder.

She spun around, her heart racing out of control. This is what she had been avoiding. She hadn't been going anywhere alone, even the toilet, and she thought she would be safe in the library. Flint was notoriously stupid about everything except for Quidditch.

"Hi," she said finally, coldly. "What the hell do you want?"

"Katie, you're really too good for that type of language," Flint said gently, "are you picking that up from the Weasley twins?"

"I told you to leave me alone," Katie said, trying desperately to sound brave like a Gryffindor should be.

"I wanted to wish you luck before the game," Flint said, and Katie was shocked to see that he sounded hurt.

"Well thanks, but I'm busy right now, doing homework, so…" Katie said, edging sideways.

"You look very pretty today Katie," Flint said quietly, staring at her.

"Thanks," Katie said mechanically, inching further away from Flint.

"I'm really not that much older than you Katie," Flint said, "is that what is bothering you?"

"Yes you are," Katie hissed, her feet carrying her out of the potions section slowly.

"Seventeen is not that much older," Flint argued again, following her slowly, "and anyway we don't have to do anything at all yet. You're still so pure and young."

Katie's skin crawled, her stomach rolling sickeningly.

"Leave me alone, "she repeated desperately, "just leave me alone Flint." She looked around her for escape exits, or for other students. Everything was just so far away.

"You're still so young," he murmured again, almost as if he were talking to himself. And unexpectedly, he turned and walked away.

Katie gave a shaky exhale, and wiped the sweat from her clammy forehead. She really should tell someone about this. But she was so proud to be a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were supposed to be brave. Brave people didn't run crying to their friends about a weird Slytherin boy. Katie took another shuddering breath, and pulled _Best Potions of the Sixteenth Century_ off of the bookshelf next to her, her hands shaking slightly. No need to worry anyone else. She just had to avoid Marcus Flint until he graduated, for the next….three years.

* * *

**Hogwarts**

**Great Hall**

**Two Years Later**

"Happy Birthday Katie!" Alicia Spinnet squealed, handing her a small wrapped present and hugging her neck from behind.

"Thanks Alicia," Katie said happily, putting down her fork of eggs to hug her back.

"The big 1-5!" Lee Jordan said, ruffling Katie's hair before going to sit next to George Weasley.

"Ahh, fifteen!" Fred said, a misty look in his eye. "That was a good year, wasn't it George?"

"That it was Fred," George replied, also looking dreamy.

"The year of the thousand dungbombs?" Angelina deadpanned.

"Something like that," Lee said, winking at Katie.

Katie laughed with everyone else, and started to open up her small pile of presents, when the owl post swooped in, delivering mail. Katie paused, her eyes darting upward, panicked looking.

"Something wrong, Katie?" Leanne asked, as a few owls swooped downward to her friend. "Didn't you already get your gifts from your parents?"

"Yeah, I..." a distinctive black owl flew over to Katie, an expensively wrapped present attached to its leg.

"Who's that from?" Brenda asked curiously, taking a few strips of bacon onto her plate.

Katie leapt up from her seat, the familiar sheen of sweat breaking out on her forehead. "I forgot something in the dorm," she invented wildly, and ran out of the Great Hall, her presents in her hands, the gold wrapped present from the black owl on top.

Sprinting down corridors, and up staircases, Katie made it to her dorm in record time, her hands shaking violently. She dropped her presents on her bed, staring at the gold wrapped package as if it were filled with venomous snakes.

Why, _why _was he still sending her birthday presents? He hadn't talked to her since that day in the library two years ago, and she had been gradually lulled into a false sense of security, believing his little game to be over, until he had sent her a birthday present the year before.

Katie felt the sweat beading on her forehead, and a line dripped down to her neck, her breath coming shallowly. Dammit, was she a Gryffindor or not? With that semi-comforting thought, she lunged forward and tore the wrapping off of the present in one movement, exposing the gift within.

It was a necklace, just as old and rich looking as the earrings he had sent her the year before, set with heavy gold and what she suspected were real ruby red gemstones. It somehow made it even worse that he was buying her Gryffindor colored jewelry instead of silver and emeralds like she would expect. It was gorgeous of course, and tasteful, and something she would be ecstatic to have if it had come from literally anyone else on the planet aside from Marcus Flint. There was a note inside, written on heavy gold vellum paper, the handwriting shockingly neat.

_Katie,_

_Every year brings us closer together. This is the kind of treatment you can expect when we are together except of course I will do even more when we are married. I will buy you anything you want, when you are mine._

_Marcus_

Katie felt the bile rise in her throat. As it was with everything to do with Flint, it was almost a kind sentiment, if it wasn't so deeply twisted and…off. And crazy. Completely crazy. Marcus Flint was a psychopath, and he was obsessed with her. Katie took a few deep, calming breaths, and took the note and the necklace, shoving them deep into her sock drawer, where the earrings were hidden as well. She didn't want to deal with this now. It was her birthday. It was supposed to be fun.

Katie made her way down into the common room, her bag slung over her shoulder, her mind whirling unhappily. She was so preoccupied she didn't even notice someone was talking to her.

"Katie Bell, are you listening to me?" someone demanded from in front of her.

"Oh!" she said, her heart lunging for another reason entirely. "Oliver! I didn't see you there."

"Happy Birthday!" Oliver said kindly, a smile sunny on his handsome face.

"How did you know it was my birthday?" Katie asked breathlessly, her stomach still in turmoil, excitement at seeing Oliver warring with disgust over Flint.

"It's my job to know everything about my Quidditch players," Oliver said, still smiling, and he held out a bar of Honeydukes chocolate raspberry almond crunch bar, Katie's favorite.

Katie stared down at the chocolate bar, stunned at Oliver's thoughtfulness, which was most assuredly _not_ one of his very many good qualities. She had no idea Oliver had ever paid any attention to her habits aside from Quidditch at all.

Oliver's smile faded a little. "I thought this was your favorite," he said, watching Katie's expression closely, "Angelina told me so anyway, and she's not the type for jokes."  
To her horror, Katie felt tears welling in her eyes, mingling with the cold nervous sweat still on her face.

"Katie, are you okay?" Oliver asked, alarmed. "Are you feeling sick?"

Katie looked up at Wood, at the concern marring his handsome face, the surprising considerate acknowledgement of her as something other than his teammate, and opened her mouth to tell him the truth.

_Tell him_, a voice screamed in her internally, _why won't you just tell him?_

"It's just so nice of you," Katie heard herself saying instead, "to go through all the bother for me."

"Oh it was no bother," Oliver said, relief evident on his face, "no bother at all for my favorite little Gryffindor Chaser!" and he cuffed her on the shoulder as if she were eight years old.

Normally, Katie would shrivel in mortification when Oliver started to treat her like a child. No one wanted their crush to act as if they were a sexless infant, and that was how Oliver had always treated her outside of practice. But with all the wisdom of her just-now fifteen years, Katie had some new insight. Oliver was almost eighteen. She had just turned fifteen. It was normal for him to treat her that way, as frustrating as it was. Flint was nineteen. It wasn't normal at all how he treated her. And for once, she appreciated just what a decent guy Oliver Wood was.

"Thanks Oliver," she said gratefully, and judging by the puzzled little smile on his face, she knew he must have heard that her thanks held hidden meaning for her that he didn't understand.

"I still expect you to practice hard tomorrow," he said, returning to form, "don't eat all of that chocolate at once, or you might not fly as fast on your broom."

Katie laughed, although she wasn't entirely sure that Oliver was joking even in the slightest.

"I won't," she promised, and when she smiled at him and took the chocolate bar, Oliver noticed for the first time what a pretty girl she would be when she was older.

* * *

**Hogwarts**

**Six Months Later**

"Katie! Hold up a moment!" Oliver called from behind her in the seventh floor corridor.

Brenda and Leanne, who knew all about her Oliver Wood obsession, shot her smirking looks with waggling eyebrows. Katie gave them a warning glare in return.

"Hi Oliver!" she said, turning around and smiling. "Last day before graduation! Are you going to miss us?"

"I wanted to talk to you," Oliver said, sounding odd in some way Katie couldn't pinpoint. He ignored Leanne and Brenda, and stared at her directly.

Katie felt a pleasant flush suffuse her face.

"Sure," she said, her voice sounding embarrassingly breathless.

Leanne and Brenda gaped openly at the way Oliver was staring at her.

Oliver took hold of her arm and steered her into a nearby classroom, as Katie waved briefly over her shoulder to Leanne and Brenda, who had dropped their bags to the ground.

"What's going on?" Katie asked, still breathless and pink in the face, as Oliver closed the door behind them and turned to look at her intently.

"I'm leaving soon," Oliver said abruptly, "it's my last year."

"I know," Katie said, "we're going to miss you a lot. You're a great Quidditch Captain."

"Is that the only reason you'll miss me?" Oliver asked, his gaze strangely intent although it was focused on something other than Quidditch plays, games, or equipment.

"I…" Katie trailed off. Surely this couldn't be happening! Had Oliver finally noticed her? Was he coming to tell her to not bother? That she was just a child to him?

"Don't lie, I've seen the way you watch—" Oliver broke off abruptly, then continued after a deep breath, "the way you watch me."

"I…" Katie began again weakly, scared at the expression on Wood's face, "sorry?"

"Why do you like me?" Oliver demanded, his eyebrows contracting.

"I…I don't," Katie argued lamely, "I admire your Quidditch ability. And your...leadership qualities."

"Oh really?" Oliver said, sounding uncharacteristically harsh when not speaking of or to a Slytherin. "You don't like me?"

"No," Katie lied openly. This was mortifying. How had he figured it out? And why did he look so angry about it?

"Sure you don't," Oliver sneered, and then he did something Katie would not have expected in a million years. He stepped forward, grabbed her by her upper arms, and kissed her roughly.

Katie gasped at this bizarre new turn, and Oliver took advantage of her open mouth and deepened their kiss.

This was simultaneously the strangest and best moment of Katie's young life. It was her first kiss, and it was with her dream boy, whom she had been under the impression was not, and would never be, interested in her. Coupled with his apparent anger at her crush, she had no idea what was going on, and she found she didn't care. She pressed closer to Oliver, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him back to the best of her limited abilities.

After a few long moments, Oliver broke the kiss and stepped back. Katie looked at him, wide eyed and beautiful. Oliver still looked angry. Oliver looked angrier than she had ever seen him, even the time the Slytherins had stormed the pitch and called Hermione Granger a Mudblood, even angrier than the time Quidditch was cancelled over the attacks on Muggleborns.

"Ol…Oliver?" she stuttered nervously, stepping back a foot.

"I knew it," he hissed, and there was an expression on his face that Katie had never seen before. "I knew you liked him."

Katie stepped back another foot, at the fury etched in every line of Wood's handsome face, his fists clenched at his sides.

"I asked you why you liked him?" Wood yelled at her. "What's he got that I don't have?"

Katie stared at Oliver, completely bewildered. He looked so angry, his face was distorting and bubbling. But no…that wasn't rage, that was…it was…

Polyjuice Potion.

It was Marcus Flint.

Katie gasped and ran for the door, but Flint got there first and blocked her way, his wand outdrawn and pointing at her face.

"I asked you," he shouted, "what that bloody Nancy boy Wood has that I don't have, Katie?"

"Nothing," Katie bold faced lied, "I knew it was you all along."

Flint froze, gazing at her face, desperately wanting to believe her.

"Did you?" he asked her skeptically.

"Of course," Katie said, the familiar sweat she referred to as 'Flint Sweat' breaking out on her face, "I'd know you anywhere," she said, laying it on thick.

Why, _why _had she never told anyone about Flint's campaign of terror on her? Why had she been so stupid to not notice how bizarre 'Oliver' had been acting? Why was so she foolish to assume she could handle this herself? Why was she so stupidly, completely, Gryffindor? And why did her first kiss have to be with Marcus 'Lunatic' Flint?

Flint exhaled, and Katie knew he was choosing to believe her when he lowered his wand and stepped away from the door.

"You keep telling me I'm too old," he said accusingly, without any real malice in his voice anymore.

"You are, but I just…couldn't help myself," Katie made up spontaneously.

Marcus tilted his head, and a strange fond expression came to his face, as if she were a kitten that had soiled his carpet but was just so adorable he couldn't bear to punish it.

"That makes two of us," he said kindly.

Katie felt a jolt of horror when she fully realized what her desperate lies that had not been thought out had done as Flint moved closer to her, a predatory gleam in his dark eyes.

"Don't…" Katie choked out, looking for an exit, trying to think of a way to get out her wand that wasn't blatant, "don't—"

The door burst open, smashing into Flint's head and back and knocking him unconscious. The real Oliver Wood was revealed in the doorframe.

"Oliver!" she screamed in relief, rushing toward him and stepping over Flint's prone form.

"Marcus Flint?" Wood yelped in shock, "Flint? Flint was impersonating me?"

"How did you know?" Katie asked, as she shakily left the room, Oliver casting a confused look at Flint's body.

"I ran into Brenda and Leanne, and they asked me where you were," Wood explained, frowning, "and I realized someone was pretending to be me." He tried to stop Katie from her rapid escape from the area. "Katie, could you stop a moment and please explain to me what is going on?"

"I…well…" unbelievably, Katie waffled once more. How could she admit to Oliver that she had a crush on him?

"Stop lying to me," Oliver said warningly, "and tell me why you look like Flint just attacked you."

Katie took a deep breath.

"Well, it started second year," she said finally, and she proceeded to tell Oliver everything, with the one small exception that she had kissed the Wood/Flint hybrid back.

* * *

**Theodore Nott's Quarters**

**Five Years Later**

As Katie stared at the even larger form of Marcus Flint, who was most assuredly not Aidan Montague, all she could think about was how Oliver Wood was not around to save her this time.

Hermione Granger however, was around. Katie had only time to choke on air as Flint stared at her, a confused sort of hope lighting up his face, when Hermione shoved her out of the way and attempted to slam the door in Flint's face.

Unfortunately, as much as Flint towered over Katie, he towered still further over Hermione, who was no match for him. Flint caught the edge of the door and shoved back, heaving the door all the way open and knocking Hermione sideways into the wall.

"_Go away_!" Katie heard a shrill voice scream, more than a tinge of hysteria to it, before she realized it was her own voice. "_Go away_!" She pulled her hair between her shaking hands, and attempted to shove the door closed herself, Hermione getting to her feet and adding her weight to the door.

Flint swatted the door open again as effortlessly as if they were flies attempting to stop him, and stepped into the room. Every last one of Katie's nightmares for the past five years, which had increased tenfold since being captured, was coming true. She would give anything for one of the other Death Eaters to appear right now, anything. Even Warrington.

"Katie," Flint said quietly, continuing to ignore Hermione, "has he done anything to you? Are you okay?"

In her peripheral vision, she was vaguely aware that Hermione had gotten up and run over to the fireplace for some reason, but she couldn't seem to care. Black spots were appearing in her vision, and her breath was coming in ragged gasps of sheer terror.

"Katie?" Flint repeated insistently, "What has he done?"

In back of her, she could hear Hermione rustling with something, and she dimly realized she needed to distract Flint from whatever her brainy comrade was doing.

"Nothing," she choked out, "nothing, Flint! I'm fine. Please go away. Please, please—"

Two things happened almost simultaneously. The first was that Hermione had picked up a red hot poker from the fireplace, and had thrown it at Flint's head while he gazed at Katie. The second was that Hermione fell to the ground, writhing and clutching her stomach as the penalty for her disobedience hit her. Flint ducked just in time, drawing his wand and in his other hand, a knife.

"That's it Mudblood," he hissed menacingly, advancing on Hermione. "I was having a conversation with my girlfriend, but trash like you has to—"

Katie ran over and kicked Flint in the leg as hard as she could, knowing the whole time this would cause the curse to activate on her as well. She couldn't just let Hermione die, and frankly dying at the hands of the Entrail Expelling Curse was preferable to being…taken…by Marcus Flint.

She doubled over as well, rolling on the ground in agony next to Hermione, who spat up blood on Flint's shoes and the hem of his robe.

"Katie! Are you hurt?" Flint asked desperately, and he reached down to touch her.

All three occupants of the room had forgotten something rather important, and if they had remembered, much of the previous activity would have never occurred. Flint was zapped violently from the collar on Katie's neck, the one that proclaimed her Aidan Montague's pet Mudblood, and fell three feet away from the two girls, both of whom were retching copious amounts of blood onto the carpet.

Flint sat up hurriedly, and drew his wand. He attempted to cast a charm on Katie, and she dimly realized he was trying to reverse the Entrail Expelling Curse, unsuccessfully. She wasn't his Mudblood. He continued to ignore Hermione.

"Katie," he said again, and if she had been more cognizant she would have realized that this was the only time in his entire life that Marcus Flint had sounded scared, "Katie, lie still." Flint drew near to her again, hovering over her but not touching her. "I'm going to—"

"Get the _FUCK _away from her Flint!" Montague bellowed, running into the room with Nott on his heels, a watchful Pansy Parkinson behind them.

"What did you _do_ to them?" Aidan bellowed, as Theo quickly went to Granger, his face expressionless.

Flint stood up with a snarl, blocking Montague from getting closer to Katie, his knife back in his hand and ready.

"It's the curse, idiot," Pansy said caustically, as Katie and Hermione continued to lose blood. "He didn't do anything."

"What's the reversal again?" Theo asked, his face blank, but a tiny bit of sweat rising around his temples.

"Don't cast the reversal," Pansy snarled, "why would you cast the counter curse? They clearly attacked him, and disobedient bitches should be punished."  
"I'll remember that next time you make me angry," Aidan said through his teeth, trying to get around the snarling Flint. "Get out of my way, Flint! I'm trying to help her."  
"Why?" Pansy demanded again, her eyes narrowed and angry, and Theo realized they were in dangerous territory.

"If you recall Pansy," Theo said coldly, "Granger came with explicit orders from the Dark Lord to not be permanently harmed or killed, on pain of death. I have no choice."

"And I haven't worn my out yet," Aidan added crudely, his eyebrows lowered thunderously as Flint continued to hulk in front of Katie, his knife and wand out.

"Fix her!" Flint snarled, his fear for Katie outweighing his anger at Montague. "Fix her, you shit!"

Hermione and Katie continued to writhe around in their own blood, their complexions turning more chalky.

"What's going on here?" a more hoarse voice than even Flint's asked from the doorway. "You are late for the raid. I was given the unfortunate task of finding out why."

All occupants of the room froze, except for the two girls, who were making agonized noises of pain.

Rodolphus Lestrange stood observing the scene, his eyes animated. "Your Mudbloods acting up boys?"

"Yes, but we were about to cast the reversal, Mr. Lestrange," Aidan said hurriedly, "Nott can't let his Mudblood die, orders from the Dark Lord, and I—"

"Just cast the curse into stasis, moron," Pansy snapped, looking more irritable than ever. "I do it to mine all the time, as a little reminder. It won't kill them, it will just freeze the curse where it is now, inflicting them with pain, but they won't die. Keeps them in line nicely."

Theo opened his mouth, trying to think of a way to reasonably argue this without digging himself into a suspicious, blood traitor filled hole. (It would probably smell like a Weasley.)

"Fantastic idea, Pansy," Aidan said smoothly, not missing a beat. "Occasionally you do come up with something helpful."

He turned to Katie, who was choking piteously, and said "_Congelo_," pointing his wand at her head. She continued to shake in agony, but the blood stopped coming from her mouth.

Theo turned to Hermione, a sick, hot feeling in his stomach. Surely, they were not going to leave them in this situation the whole raid? That could be all night!

"Brilliance from you as usual, Pansy," chuckled Lestrange. "I'm not sure what these numbskulls would do without you."  
Aidan clenched his jaw angrily, but said nothing. Flint stared at Katie, looking stricken as she cried silently. Theo pointed his wand at Granger, his stomach giving a wrench.

"_Congelo_," he said as well, and Granger stopped vomiting blood as well.

"Delightfully sadistic, boys," said Lestrange approvingly, scratching his gaunt face, his eyes not matching his words exactly, as they still gleamed with a hint of suspicion. "Now, as we are running late—"

"Fix her," Flint interrupted Rodolphus dangerously, his voice an angry, rough, snarl, "I told you to fix her you bastard, not leave her—"

"I find your concern for the Mudblood extremely interesting, Marcus," Rodolphus said, "and I'm sure the Dark Lord will as well, if you don't shut your gormless hole immediately."  
Pansy threw an undecipherable look at Flint as a warning, and Flint shut his mouth, his body tense, his teeth bared. Rodolphus Lestrange was possibly one of the only people on the planet more insane than Marcus Flint, and everyone in the room knew it.

"Time to go," Aidan said, carelessly stepping over Katie, who was giving choked sobs as she suffered continuous agony, not sparing her a second look.

Theo forced himself to do the same, as Pansy and Lestrange watched him.

Rodolphus walked out of the room, Pansy trailing along beside him, asking him sycophantic questions about his best torturing experiences, then Flint, after Montague gestured sarcastically for him to go first. Flint cast one last agonized look back at Katie and left, Montague following after him. Theo walked slowly after Aidan, noticing vaguely that no one was paying him any attention. He had to leave Granger and Bell suffering in unspeakable agony. He had to. His plan, his life, Montague's life, Bell and Granger's lives, depended on it. They would be okay, not matter how painful it was now. He had to, he had no other option.

But at the last moment, right when he was about to close the door, the others apparating away in the hallway, he whipped around, twirled his wand, and said "_Torpeo_," in a tiny whisper at each girl in turn.

* * *

**Author Note:** "Torpeo" is a charm I made up, and is Latin for "numb." "Congelo" is Latin for "freeze."

Okay be honest: How soon did you guess that "Oliver" was not Oliver? And if you're wondering why Flint wasn't expelled for that stunt...well...maybe he was. And maybe, since Hogwarts is literally the most lax school about violence/rule breaking ever, and it was the day before he graduated, he didn't. Doesn't really matter to the story either way.

I hope I did my job right and it was clear that Flint only acts that way around Katie, and around everyone else he acts like a sullen, evil hobgoblin. And it's clear that he's a total loon.

Thanks everyone so much for the reviews, and I would like to give another thanks to idamalfoy, who helped me get this fic back on track. Much love to all!


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven: In Which Theodore Nott Proclaims His Love**

Theo looked around the ruins of the Leaky Cauldron, a curious emptiness in head. Pansy had her wand pointed at the prisoners in the middle of the desolation. It had gone perfectly, even better than the Ollivander raid.

They had received intelligence that an order member, Dedalus Diggle, who was a frequent customer at the Leaky Cauldron would be at the bar, and he had brought along fellow suspected member Hestia Jones. They, along with seven others, were bound and gagged, wands confiscated by Malfoy and Montague with minimal fuck ups by Draco. None of the Death Eaters had been killed. Only three of them had been injured at all. By all accounts it had been a stunning success. But Theo couldn't shake his feeling of numbess.

He couldn't stop picturing Granger and Bell's faces as they had been tortured. He'd known he had done the right thing by freezing their pain, and he thanked Salazar that Aidan had previously given him permission to touch Bell or it wouldn't have worked at all, but it had a been a very stupid, sentimental thing to do. He should've followed Montague's example and done nothing. They wouldn't have died. They wouldn't-

"I'm going to kill you," Flint said next to Theo, directly to Aidan's face. "You're going to die, Montague. It might not be now, and it might not be a week from now, or a month. But it's going to happen."

"Threatening your superior, Flint?" Montague said, attempting to keep his voice light.

Theo glanced at his friend and saw his own empty expression mirrored on Montague's face.

"It's not a threat," Flint growled, so low no one beyond the three of them could hear, "it's a promise."

"How horribly clichéd you are sometimes," Montague replied, attempting a glib tone. "You sound like a bad Muggle movie."

"A what?" Flint sneered.

"It's not a threat, it's a promise," Montague mimicked, his voice ludicrously guttural. "Payback's a bitch, and so am I! The only thing worse than a flesh eating zombie….is me!"

Theo felt as confused as Flint looked, which was a terrifying thing indeed.

"Did you consume a babbling potion without us noticing?" Theo cut in, attempting to diffuse the tension.

Montague sighed heavily, exaggeratedly. "How can I continue to take you seriously Theo, without you possessing any knowledge of terrible Muggle culture?"

"Boys, do stop cat fighting over the Gryffindor Mudblood slut and let's get out of here," Pansy sniffed next to Theo.

Theo wondered if he had been hallucinating things, or if Pansy had actually just pinched Flint. Flint shot her an unreadable look, but pushed past Aidan, hitting him roughly on the shoulder as he walked past.

"I'm watching you Montague," he shot back over his shoulder.

"He's a walking cliché," Aidan sighed, sounding disappointed. "He really needs some new material."

Theo furrowed his brow. He really couldn't bring himself to care about the Flint/Montague Pissing Contest of 1997 at the moment. He couldn't stop picturing Granger's _face_…

"You alright, Theo?" Pansy asked him curiously. "You don't look like yourself."

"Tired," he forced out, "I'm just tired. Let's gather the blood traitors and get out of here."

* * *

**Death Eater Headquarters**

Theo walked back into his room, half hoping Granger had escaped or disappeared or ceased to exist, and he never had to worry about her or any other Mudblood again. She was sitting in the middle of his bed when he walked back in. Not her cot. _His bed._ And the covers were rumpled and turned down as if she had been sleeping there. Her clothes were half-unbuttoned and wrinkled all to hell. Theo stopped dead, astonished, and stared at her. She stared back, than raised a brow. Theo half turned, throwing his mask and cloak down while she watched, always watching, never—

"Fine!" Theo snapped, "Fine! You win!" and he twirled his wand at her. "There! Now will you explain yourself?"

Granger brought a hand to her throat, clutched it there for half a second, and audibly cleared it. "Explain what?" she rasped, sounding something like a Flint/Hagrid hybrid with a head cold.

"Explain _that_," Theo said, intending to point toward his rumpled bed covers.

Granger glanced at her half-unbuttoned shirt.

"Not that!" he yelped, Theo's voice approaching bat sonar levels.

"I was tired," Granger croaked, "it's a bed."

"Are you mocking me?" Theo asked, his Malfoy impression becoming more awfully real (and therefore, impotent.)

"I answered an obvious question with an obvious answer," Granger said, a tiny bit of the sandpaper leaving her voice. "It's not my fault you took that as an insult," she shrugged a shoulder.

Theo squinted at her. "It's the middle of the day."

"Is it? I wouldn't know. It's not like I have windows. Besides getting tortured really takes it out of you."

Theo stared at her, willing himself not to turn away with guilt. "You shouldn't have attacked Flint. That was stupid of you."

"Almost as stupid as if it was for you to remove it," Granger said mildly.

"I didn't remove it," Theo said stupidly. He twirled his wand at her again, "Now I removed it. I just froze it before."

Granger stared at him. He forced himself to stare back.

"Not really one for torture, are you?" she said quietly. "That's odd for a Death Eater, wouldn't you say?"

"You don't know a damn thing about me or my life," Theo said savagely. "Now shut up and get out of my bed. I'm going to sleep."

"It's the middle of the day," Granger pointed out, and Theo was horrified to see that she was almost smiling.

"I told you to shut up," Theo snarled. "Now move, or I will _make you _move."

* * *

Katie stared at Montague. "You must be joking," she said in disbelief. After what happened earlier, you expect me to—"

"Yeah, I do,' Montague said, "so get changed so that we can go eat."

He threw a fresh Hogwarts uniform at her. Katie caught it one handed and frowned.

"But…in this? After Flint—"

"Are you deaf?" Montague said, "Yes! Put it on. And then I'm going to fix your face before we go."

He pulled his Death Eater robes over his head, stripping until he was in nothing but his underwear. He grabbed a cloth and wet it before vigorously rubbing blood off of his torso.

"Did you get injured?" Katie inquired timidly.

"No," Montague said as he repeatedly swiped at his left shoulder, "although if Flint mastered the power of his mind and implemented it as a weapon…" he muttered under his breath. Montague scrubbed his lower abdomen in silence for a few minutes as Katie sat motionless on the couch.

"I can do that for you you know," Katie said.

"What?" Aidan dropped the cloth on the floor.

"I mean, you seem to be having issues," she gestured at his half contorted body.

Aidan snatched the cloth off of the floor. "Just get changed."

Katie plucked at her dirty shirt, undoing the first button before she noticed Montague starting at her, his cloth in his hand motionless on his right bicep. "Aren't you um…aren't you…" Montague continued to stare at her. "Would you please look away?"

"Why?" Montague said. "I own you. That means I own your body. I can look at it as much as I want."

Katie stared at him. He stared back. She was horrified. The only other boys who had seen her in a state of undress were Muggle boys, when she was on holiday at the beach. It had been Katie's experience that Muggle boys were far more inclined to understand and appreciate half naked teen girl flesh without making a national incident out of it. Wizards really could be such shocking prudes.

"Well? Get on with it," Montague said, gesturing with his cloth holding hand.

Katie felt more than a touch of anger suddenly flame in her. _You're supposed to make him love you,_ a quiet internal voice said. A non Gryffindor voice. One that used logic. Why _don't you just—_

"You don't own my body," Katie snarled, rising a few inches on the couch. "I don't care what you think. It's still mine, no matter what happens to it." She expected, even welcomed a burst of anger from Aidan, but he merely raised an eyebrow.

"Saving yourself for Oliver Wood?"

Katie tried to control herself from flushing red and failed. It was true. She_ had_ been saving herself for Oliver. But good God, how did _everyone_ know about her torch for Oliver? Had she been that obvious?

"You're going to be waiting a long time," Aidan said meanly. "Has he ever even noticed that you're a girl?"

An angry yes was on the tip of her tongue, but Katie swallowed it. Oliver _had_ noticed her. He had kissed her. But it hadn't been Oliver at all. In a depressed rage, Katie yanked her buttoned shirt open one handed, snapping it violently open. She stood up and yanked her skirt and shoes off, pulling of her stockings so hard they ripped. Montague tilted his head slightly to the side, eyeing her.

"Not bad, Gryffindor," he said after a moment. "I've certainly seen worse."

"I've definitely seen better," Katie snarled, giving his abdomen the once over. This was a complete lie. Montague was irritatingly ripped. She jerked the new skirt up and began buttoning up her new shirt.

"Wait," Aidan said suddenly. "I brought you new underwear too." He threw her tiny black lace contraptions that were both microscopic and see through. "Change that first."

"_Fuck_ yourself," Katie said explosively, uncontrollably.

"If you insist," Montague shrugged, his hand travelling toward his underwear where-Katie's eyes travelled against her will—_something was happening._ She gasped.

"Stop it," she said, her voice strangled. She turned away, her torso completely away from Montague, her stomach roiling in a panic,_ no._ It was finally about to happen. He was going to make her-

Montague laughed. "Oh calm down, Bell," he said and Katie heard him resume scrubbing the blood from his skin with the cloth.

She remained twisted away, efficiently pulled off her fresh shirt and changed her bra so quickly that there was no way Montague had seen even her bare back for more than five seconds. She twisted back, refusing to look Montague in the face, and with quick movements, yanked off her old underwear underneath her skirt and replaced the cotton pair with the budding stripper pair. She stood up, face inflamed although she was sure Montague had seen nothing, and walked over to the fire, throwing her underwear in. Montague laughed again.

"You're a nutter Bell," he said, shaking his head.

Katie looked at him, forcing her emotions out of the equation. He was very handsome, Montague. She was sure if she hadn't spent years conditioned to hate him, she would have previously noticed this more deeply than she had. He was more handsome when he smiled, which of course she hadn't noticed because she had never seen him smiling before. His body was disgustingly good. Really, her plan could be worse. Much worse. _Take it back,_ Katie ordered herself. _Be a Gryffindor. Take back your power. Survive. No one will blame you_. As Katie continued to stare, Montague's smile died. He looked at her more intently as she walked closer to him willingly for the first time. His movements ceased as she came closer, and she yanked the cloth from his slackening grip.

"Don't be an idiot," she said, "it's much easier if I help."

He stared at her and swallowed hard. _Yes,_ Katie thought triumphantly, vindictively, _I have you now._ She started washing the blood on his back to give her face time to control itself and stop looking smug.

"You know Bell," Montague said after a few moments, "your behavior is sending me some mixed messages."

Katie slowly wiped his shoulders, wondering where, and who, the blood had come from. Montague's flesh was unblemished. It wasn't his. She slowed down her movement further and she was rewarded with the tiniest catch in Montague's breath. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Let me make it simple for you," Katie said, "I'm trying to stay alive."

Montague's hands clenched and unclenched again. He was silent as Katie finished with the blood on his back and moved in front of him, slightly hesitating before washing his chest with the cloth. Montague washed her in silence as she finished cleaning his flesh. _Killer_ flashed through her mind. _He's a killer._ _I'm cleaning a murderer._ She turned away, done, and fighting a strong wave of nausea. Montague's hand struck out lighting fast and grabbed her wrist, holding her in place.

"Bell," he said, his voice low. "I'm not going to kill you. You don't need to worry about that."

Katie held his strangely intent gaze. "What about Flint?" she asked quietly.

"He's not going to touch you again," Montague said harshly.

"What about Warrington? Or—"

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you," Montague said, searching her face, "I promise. I told you, you belong to me."

"And_ I_ told _you_," Katie said, twisting her wrist out of his grip and taking a step back, "I belong to me."

Montague smirked at her humorlessly. "If you say so Bell. Now fix your face. We're going down to dinner."

"You just said you're trying to keep me alive," Katie ventured, picking up another wet cloth and rubbing her face.

"I am," Montague said, finally moving away. He stripped off his blood stained underwear unexpectedly.

Katie gasped and turned away so fast she feared whiplash. "Oh grow up," sneered Montague, "If I cared I wouldn't have done it in front of you."

Katie stayed silently, prudently turned away, her brain forever burned with the image she had just seen. Well, at least she had proof her washing had worked on him on some level. She fought the urge to hysterically giggle.

"Anyway," Montague said, returning to her side fully clothed, yanking the cloth from her and roughly washing her tear stained face, "'I _am_ keeping you alive. That's why we're going. Make sure to act like you hate me and fear me. The first part shouldn't be too much of a stretch for you."

* * *

Theo sat down for dinner, yanking Granger onto the bench next to him by her arm. She didn't make a sound even though Theo knew he must have hurt her. Draco stared at them avidly from across the table.

"Well Mudblood," he said staring at Granger and her cleavage in her new dress and actually _licking his lips_ like he was a damned caricature of a villain that had been mutated from a frog and an albino rat, "I see Nott's dressed you up and almost," he paused to smile at his own non-wit "_used_ you up as well."

Theo almost_ felt_ Granger's outrage and spoke before she could make a mess of things.

"Shut your face, Malfoy," he said in a bored tone, "no one wants to hear your masturbatory fantasies."

Laughter exploded from all around them, even from Flint. Theo looked at Granger who shot up a sidelong smile, as if questioning him whether she should laugh as well or not. He winked at her and she laughed as well.

"I mean," Theo continued now really enjoying himself, "everyone's always known about your obvious Granger fetish. Pathetic, really." Hermione laughed again and Theo continued, heartened, "but I really don't want to know that you fantasize about me having sex."

At this point, the other recruits were in various states of hilarity. Warrington was choking on his pumpkin juice/Firewhisky combination drink, Pansy was banging the table with her free hand, and even her Mudbloods were nervously laughing from their spots next to her.

"I just thank Merlin he's moved on from his previous fantasies of the entire Slytheirn Quidditch team," Aidan said from behind Theo. "Budge over Granger. Surely your hair doesn't take up that many seats."

A fork clattered loudly to a plate form Flint's direction, and before Theo could look around Katie Bell sat next to Hermione, Aidan flanking her other side.

_Go time,_ Theo thought grimly. He half glanced at Adian, who gave him a dry nod in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bell quickly squeeze Granger's leg under the table."

"Two Gryffindor Mudbloods," Pansy drawled. "I supposed they don't think they're so high and mighty anymore, do they?"

"Not anymore," Theo and Adian chorused together before looking at each other and laughing. Bell looked down at the table, some of her hair covering her face. Granger speared a potato and ate it calmly.

"When are you loaning her out, Nott?" Malfoy asked suddenly, his eyes never leaving Granger.

"About the same time you outsmart her," Theo said while tearing into a bread roll, "never. Not to you anyway" he added hastily, thinking of the Lestranges who were thankfully out of hearing at the moment.

"Katie," Marcus began urgently.

"Flint, what exactly have you done to those girls?" Aidan cut off Flint. He gestured with his fork to the two Mudblood girls sitting behind him on the floor.

Flint paused and looked behind himself for a minute, as if he had forgotten them. One girl, Megan Jones, was clearly supposed to be Alicia Spinnet. The other was a poor imitation of the girl sitting next to Granger.

Bell glanced for a second at the girls and became transfixed with the poor blonde girl, who was covered in various bruises and cuts. She seemed especially interested in the circle of bruises around the girl's throat. The girls looked back at Katie. Their looks were almost pitying. Flint whirled around just in time to catch Bell's horrified expression before she returned to contemplating the table.

"It's—it's—"" Flint stammered.

_Stammered,_ Theo marveled. Flint _never_ stammered.

"Sick," marveled Aidan, "you're really sick Flint. Isn't that right, Bell?" Katie looked up at Montague helplessly.

"Sick," she muttered, dropping her gaze again.

"Aren't you so much happier with me?" Montague continued relentlessly.

"Much happier," Bell parroted, her voice barely audible.

"Well that was convincing," Pansy drawled.

"I'm going to kill you Montague," Flint grit out through her teeth for the second time that day. He stood up, his fork in his fist.

"Another conversation, another death threat," Montague said airily, taking an obnoxiously loud bite of chicken, making obscene moans of pleasure.

"I'm going to kill you," Flint said again, "and then I'm pissing on your corpse."

The rest of the young Death Eaters had frozen. Granger unconcernedly took a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, let me know how that works out for you," Montague said, no longer sounding so airy.

"And then," Flint said, ignoring Aidan, "I'm taking her. Forever. She's mine."

"Oh for fuck's sake," bitched Pansy under her breath.

Other tables of Death Eaters were starting to notice the altercation.

"Montague, Flint," Theo began uneasily when he realized everyone in the vicinity was looking to him to do something.

Aidan stood up slowly, putting his hands on the table and leaning toward Flint. "Try it. I fucking dare you Flint. I'm not letting you have her."

Granger finally paying attention, seemed to give Bell an approving look that Theo couldn't interpret. Bell also looked up at Montague. Her expression confused Theo further. Pansy leaned forward as well, her eyes dancing maliciously.

"For Merlin's sake," Theo began desperately, seeing visions of his friend's mutilated corpse dancing in his head.

Lighting fast, Flint pulled his wand out, Aidan matching him.

"So, who are you willing to lend Granger to?" Malfoy loudly asked, apparently stuck on this point.

"Do you mind, Malfoy?" Aidan snapped. "We're kind of having a fight to the death here."

"What is this boys?" boomed Mulcibur from behind Pansy. He stopped upon catching sigh of Katie and Theo remembered how he'd asked Aidan about her. He chuckled. "I don't blame you boys. She's the finest piece of arse in the room."

Hermione, perhaps against her will, made a small noise of disgust.

"I agree Granger," Draco said, outraged. "I think your arse is better. Hers is kind of flat."

Theo couldn't decide what was more surprising: Draco revealing he was even stupider than previously known, or that he was finally, openly revealing his lust for Granger.

"Only one solution boys," Mulcibur said eagerly, ignoring Malfoy like everyone else, "a wizard's duel, right now, in front of—"

"Don't be stupid," Theo heard himself saying, his voice box working against his will.

"What did you say, boy?" Mulcibur asked slowly, turning his head Theo's way.

"Should we really be killing each other? Instead of killing blood traitors and Muggle lovers?"

Granger shot him a look, one that almost looked…impressed?

"Theo's right," Pansy said, unexpectedly backing him up, "sit down and put your wands away."

"Who are you," Mulcibur said in disbelief, "to tell me—"

"Someone smarter than you," Rodolphus Lestrange rasped from behind Mulcibur. "Go back to your room Flint. Take your filth with you. As for you, Montague," he said as Flint slowly, reluctantly left with his Mudbloods, who were now gazing at Montague as if he were some kind of hero, "don't pick a fight you can't win."

"Yes Mr. Lestrange," Aidan said respectfully, sitting back down next to Bell.

"Pansy, Theodore," Lestrange started to say more kindly but stopped suddenly. "Why, it's Potter's favorite Mudblood whore," he said, staring at Granger. "Missing servicing your heroic half-blood?" He made an obscene gesture with his hand, in case anyone had been unclear about what he had meant be servicing.

Everyone at the table laughed, some more naturally than others. Everyone but Granger and—

"I'm sure Potter's a virgin," said Draco smugly, "Granger's been waiting for a real man." And he made a gross, sexual gesture of his own involving his tongue.

"I think I'm going to be ill," Montague said.

"Like you know what you're doing with a girl, Malfoy," sneered Pansy.

"She's been with Nott for weeks," said Warrington. "She's already used goods, Malfoy."

"She's already had a real man," Theo forced himself to smirk. He pressed his toes on Granger's, willing her to understand. Everyone laughed again, aside from the two former Gryffindor girls and Malfoy.

"Don't fool yourself Theodore," Lestrange said, cutting into the laughter. "I'm sure Potter uses her filthy body all the time. And I'm sure she loves it. The great champion of Mudbloods surely fucks one."

"Harry is twice the man any of you will ever be," Hermione said quietly, her hands shaking with her anger.

The bomb Granger dropped exploded, half of the Death Eaters leaping to their feet at this insult. Theo acted without thinking and backhanded Granger in the face. She fell sideways onto Bell before Theo yanked her up, twisting her arm about as weakly as he had hit her. She cried out as if she were in agony.

"Don't!" she wailed, "please stop hurting me! I haven't recovered from the last time you—"

"When I tell you to talk, Mudblood," Theo yelled, "that is when you talk! Not before."

"Yes, I forgot master! I'm sorry master!" she grabbed her face tighter. Luckily, only Theo and Bell were close enough to see that she was without tears. It was an Umbridge baiting performance, if only Theo knew the reference. Theo began dragging her from the room, but couldn't resist one quick look behind them. He was rewarded with impressed expressions from every face he saw. He dragged Granger all the way back to their room, her fake sobbing and begging for forgiveness all the way. They passed the figure of one of the spies, the one with a hooked nose and glittery black eyes. Snape. He paused, and glanced at Granger's performance.

"Over the top," he whispered, his voice disguised somewhat, "work on making it more realistic." He then swept away without a backward glance.

Granger lowered her hands, revealing her remarkably calm and tear free face. She looked after Snape's departing form. "Was that—"

"Yeah," Theo said heavily, ushering her into their—his—room. He paused, facing the door, not sure how to play this.

"Do you think I convinced the rest of them though?" Granger asked from behind him.

Theo turned around. She was sitting on his bed again, swinging her legs. "Yeah. They're idiots. You could have warned me you were going to say that crack about Potter."

Granger shrugged, unrepentant. "It just slipped out."

"What can you tell me about Potter?" Theo asked after a long, awkward pause.

"I'm not telling you a damn thing about Harry," Granger said heatedly.

"But will he be looking for you?" Theo asked.

"Of course he will. So will Ron, and Professor Dumbledore, and everyone else. They'll be looking for all of us. And they won't stop till they find us."

"You think they will find you?"

"Of course," Granger said again.

"And what do you think they'll do to me when they find you?" Theo asked quietly.

Granger looked at him, her swinging legs stilling. "I'll tell them what you're doing," she said quietly.

Theo's stomach dropped.

"And then they'll probably try to recruit you to the Order."

Theo froze. This was the last thing he had expected her to say. "What—what is that supposed to mean?" he stammered, his palms growing clammy. Merlin, was he that obvious? Was it that apparent he wasn't really a—

"You're trying to help me," Granger said, "I didn't realize that at first but now I do."

Theo felt the cold sweat traveling to his forehead. A drop rolled down to his collar.

"Don't look so panicked Nott," Granger said, "you're doing a good job. I doubt anyone else noticed a thing. But you barely hit me. You barely even touched me. You cast that charm on me and Katie. You haven't tried a thing with me. You're either regretting joining Voldemort"—Theo shuddered—"or you are in love with me. I seriously doubt it's the second one."

All of their plans, Theo thought wildly, all of his and Aidan's plans…shot to hell. Completely destroyed. Completely—

"I—I am in love with you," Nott blurted wildly, desperately. "I um. Have been. For um, years. My secret Mudblood shame. It's just um. Your hair. It's so—" _frizzy and awful_ his mind whispered, "um…sexy. And er…the eternal shame of loving a Mudblood made me join the Death Eaters to attempt to erm. Erase these filthy thoughts. But then you showed up, and now—I…er. Just can't. Um. Control myself."

And he lunged forward, his hands tingling, his palms no longer sweaty but in fact, as drenched as if he'd shot himself with Aguimenti and grabbed Granger by her frizzy, terrible hair and kissed her. Their teeth clacked together, their momentum pushing her back on the bed, Theo sprawled awkwardly half on her. Theo kept his mouth firmly closed, and drew back, breathing as heavily as if he had just been sprinting. He felt oddly proud. Yes, this had been the best course of action. He'd fool Granger into thinking-

"Well Nott," Granger said, her eyes wide, wiping her mouth with her hand, "that was pretty pathetic."

Theo said up. "Which part?" he asked, feeling oddly disappointed. "The kiss or the speech?"

"Both," Granger said, brutally honest. "I mean, have you ever even kissed a girl before?"

"Yes," Theo indignantly burst out. _No,_ his mind nastily whispered at him. _No_ _you haven't. Your father's going to be really proud that it was with a Mudblood._

Granger raised both her brows at him. "What? Like your sister or something?"

"I don't have a sister," Theo muttered, mortified. He decided Granger was going to force him to be honest. "I mean..I'm a pure-blood," he said, even more quietly, "have you seen most pure-blood girls?"

"Unfortunately," Granger snarked.

"And even if I was attracted to them, I'm certainly not rich enough for a pure-blood girl," he heard himself whinging. To Granger. He was whinging to Granger about his love life, or lack thereof. His insides shriveled yet further.

"How tough for you," Hermione deadpanned. "At least half of the boys in the entire school think they're too good for me because my parents are Muggles. The other half think that I'm an irritating know it all with tragic hair."

"Your hair really isn't erm," Theo gestured feebly, "um. It's kind of wild… in an um. Appealing way."

Granger snorted. "Spare me, Nott. It looks like someone dropped a briar patch on my head."

"Erm. Well. A bit," Theo admitted. "You're still much better looking than Pansy," he heard himself saying.

"Ooh, there's a hurdle to clear," Granger said sarcastically.

They sat in silence a few more moments, Theo picking at the covers, a strange combination of relief and terror roiling through him.

"Was it really that bad?" he asked finally.

"It was pretty bad," Granger admitted.

"Can we um." Theo felt a strange mixture of Slytherin pure-blood screaming at him and Gryffindor recklessness urging him on. "Can we try again?"

Granger froze. The silence grew. Theo's horror grew. The internal Slytherin pure-blood's laughter grew.

_ So pathetic you're shot down by a Mudblood, and not even a particularly attractive Mud-_

"Okay," said Granger, her voice strange. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

"Thanks," Theo muttered, before lunging at her again.

"Now stop," Granger said irritably, pushing him away. She was using her 'now don't put six slugs in that potion Ronald Weasley, unless you want it to explode' voice, but Theo wasn't to know this. "Don't just attack me like that. Or at least, wait till you know what you're doing before you start getting so aggressive. Just um…"

Theo looked at her helplessly, and a bit pathetically. This was not how he had pictured his reveal to Granger going. It was not how he had pictured his first kiss.

"Just let me show you," Granger said finally, "follow my lead." She gently touched his face, holding it, she leaned in and kissed him softly on the mouth. She moved her mouth and Theo attempted to mimic her. _This is going much better_, his brain screamed at him. _Much better. Much, much_—and then he felt Granger's tongue and his mind went completely blank. If it had not, he might have noticed the strangely determined and completely unromantic expression on her face as she kissed him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve: In which Megan Jones is promoted**

** London, England**

** March 1997**

"Nothing," said Ron Weasley as he turned over yet another piece of debris in the abandoned factory. "There's no one here."

Harry Potter's shoulders slumped, his face falling into its usual lines of misery.

"It's okay boys," Tonks said gently from behind them, "We'll find them."

"This is the seventh place we've looked today," Ron exploded, "where can she be?"

"Could be dead already," Mundungus grumbled from next to recent Order inductees Oliver Wood and the Weasley twins. Harry and Ron were still unofficial, underage members.

"Hermione is not dead," Ron snarled as Harry stared around silently, morosely.

"It was a long shot anyway," Tonks attempted to soothe them. "I'm sure they're somewhere that's very fortified and hidden by dark magicks. But Dumbledore thought—"

"I know what Dumbledore thought," Ron snapped, "it's obvious. We complained enough, and now he's made up fake rescue missions to get us out of the way. Well, I'm sick of it. I don't give a damn about school. All I care about is finding Hermione and everything else is a waste of my time."

"Ron," a few voices started to cut him off.

"Ron's right," Harry said quietly, "this is a waste of our time. Hermione is probably being tortured right now and Dumbledore's making up fake missions that we can be baby sat on."

"Not just Hermione," Wood said, sounding sad, "they've got Katie too. Flint might…" he trailed off.

"What about Flint, Wood?" Fred Weasley asked.

"I never told anyone," Wood said, "Katie begged me not to. I shouldn't've—" he sighed. "Flint's obsessed with her. He's probably already—" Wood choked on the words. "I should've told someone. I should've gotten him sent to Azkaban," he muttered faster, looking anguished.

"Boys," Tonks said sharply, "no one here is to blame. Blame the Death Eaters. Blame You-Know-Who. And they don't have just Hermione and Katie. They have at least a hundred people. And we need to save them all."

She turned, addressing the group. "I'm surprised at you. Dumbledore would never have you doing something without a purpose. He cares about the captives just as much as you do. He—"

"Bullshit," Harry cut in heavily, but without anger. "I'm through with sifting through empty buildings. When Dumbledore decides to tell me the truth of what's going on, he knows where to find us."

Ron and Harry turned their backs on Tonks and walked away.

* * *

"Test this one next," Severus Snape snapped at Tracey Davis, handing her yet another mysterious substance in a vial.

_Severus Snape snapped_, Tracey thought wearily. _That's a tongue twister._ She put out her hand and took the blue liquid filled vial. She dumped a powdered snake fang on top of it and watched it sizzle, the sudden glow highlighting her arms and the various purplish marks on them. She unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips. Yup. Her bottom lip was still split. She tasted blood.

"_Drink it_,"Severus Snape snarled at her.

_Severus Snape snarled,_ Tracey's brain repeated idiotically. _Another tongue-_

"Stop. Stop, idiot girl," Snape hissed. "Spit out the blood in your mouth first. You can't mix that in."

Tracey complied, then was rewarded with Snape blasting her mouth with Aguamenti. She spluttered violently.

"Better. Now drink," Snape gestured.

Tracey drank. She knew better than to refuse. She had learned that lesson two weeks ago. Immediately, predictably, she was in agony. Her organs twisted. Her skin burned. She opened her mouth, a scream bubbling forth—

"No," Snape snapped irritably, handing her another vial.

_Snape snapped, Snape snapped, Snape snapped,_ Tracey's mind babbled as she downed the vial. Instantly the pain left, leaving only it's remnants behind.

"Wrong," Snape muttered to himself as he scribbled on some parchment, "wrong again." He handed Tracey another vial, not even looking at her as he continued to scribble. Tracey remained motionless. "Well?" Snape demanded, looking up again from his writing. "What are you waiting for you simpleton? We have twenty more of these to get through today."

Tracey stared at him for a moment, hatred shining through every pore in her body. "Yes master," she mumbled dutifully, dropping her gaze.

I hate you, she thought, her anger transcending to hatred. I hate you, you greasy bat shaped excuse for a man, and I will kill you. Even if it kills me. She dropped more powdered snake fang on the red vial and downed it, doubling over at once, screaming.

* * *

"Katie," Flint began gently, almost tenderly, "what was that all about at dinner tonight?"

Veronique trembled. It was always worse when he pretended to be nice.

"What—what do you mean, Marcuz?" she asked, attempting to keep a tremor out of her voice.

"All of those things you let Montague say."

Veronique's shaking intensified. Megan Jones looked at her with pity, and a small amount of relief that it was Veronique and not herself being questioned.

"I didn't mean eet," Veronique said quickly, "you know I didn't mean eet Marcuz. 'E made me say eet. You know 'ow much I 'ate 'im."  
Flint stared at her in silence.

"I—I love only you, Marcuz," Veronique ventured.

"You don't think he's handsome?" Flint rasped.

"Not at all," Veronique lied. "I love only you," she repeated.

Flint stared at her longer, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Now Katie," he said slowly, "we both know you like them pretty. Remember Oliver Wood? Remember what you did when he kissed you?"

Veronique froze. She had never heard this name. She had no idea what Flint wanted her to say.

"Remember, Katie?" Flint said, his voice growing louder. "You threw yourself at him. It was pathetic. You would've fucked him right then if we hadn't gotten interrupted, wouldn't you?"

Veronique stared at him, her lips quivering.

"Wouldn't you have?" Flint suddenly roared, getting closer to her.

"No!" she yelled, "No Marcuz! I only want you. Always, I only want you."

"Montague's even prettier than Wood, isn't he?" Flint asked her, his voice shockingly calm again.

Veronique's mind raced faster and faster. What game was this? Which answer would make him angrier?

"No," she gambled miserably, "No I don't think so, Marcuz." She knew, instantly, that she had guessed wrong.

Flint backhanded her violently, and she fell on the floor.

"I knew it," he hissed, "I knew you were still hot for that pretty boy. He doesn't even like you Katie!" he raved, grabbing her ankles. "He doesn't even notice you! He never has! Not like I do." And he yanked her legs apart.

Veronique started crying. She couldn't help it. She knew Marcus hated it when she cried during, she had tried very hard not to. But she couldn't help it.

"Why are you_ crying_, Katie?" Flint demanded as he shoved her skirt up. "I bet you don't cry for Montague or Nancy Boy Wood."

Veronique cried harder. She wished wretchedly, not for the first time, that she had been taken by that Montague boy. Anyone would be better than this. Anyone—

Flint reached up, put his hands around her throat, and snapped Veronique's neck in one swift movement. Megan cried out.

"Pathetic," Flint seethed, "Katie wouldn't cry. She's a _Gryffindor_." He turned to Megan who was cowering in the corner. "You'll do better, won't you?" Flint demanded.

"Ye-yes, Marcus," Megan said, "I love you."

"That's nice," Flint said, staring at her. "I like hearing you say that, Katie. Now take off your clothes."

* * *

The Dark Lord Voldemort stared at the young boy in front of him. He was tall and weedy, and had brown, messy hair and large brown eyes. His face was a divisive face, one that some would find attractive and others would find a bit sallow and asymmetrically formed. An ordinary face that would in five years solidify into a handsome face or an ugly one, depending on nature. Voldemort had never taken much stock in beauty, his own youthful appearance had been an extraordinarily handsome one, an appearance he had thrown away on dark magicks. But he thought Theodore Nott's looks could help him a great deal. He imagined such a boy got underestimated often, even if he was from a long line of pure-bloods.

"Theodore Nott," Voldemort said in his high cold voice, "what have you made of the gift I have given you? Have you kept the Mudblood alive?" The boy was sweating profusely but clearly was using all of his willpower not to fidget in front of him.

"Yes my lord," Nott replied, "I am honored that you would trust me with such a gift and I'm keeping her alive, just as you've requested."

"You should be honored," Voldemort returned, "we have no more important prisoner. Not even this one," and he waved his spiderlike hand in the corner, where Aberforth Dumbledore was chained up, bloody and half dead.

Nott's eyes flit back at Aberforth than back to Voldemort, "I'm appreciative beyond measure that you trust me with her my lord. I've enjoyed her immensely."

"Have you?" Voldemort said casually. "And what use have you put the little Mudblood whore?" he gazed intently at Nott, who immediately averted his gaze. "Look at me, boy," Voldemort hissed, Nagini winding around his chair. Nott looked back at him and met his gaze, the sweat dripping down his face. Voldemort penetrated the boy's mind easily, even though Nott attempted to resist.

"What have you been doing with her?" he hissed again, almost inaudible. Suddenly he saw Granger on the floor vomiting blood. He saw her rolling around with Nott on his bed, kissing fiercely. He saw Nott's hands go under her shirt and—Voldemort retreated, vaguely disappointed. He had somehow expected more of the boy. He had expected Nott, from what he had observed, to be more like him. But Nott was just like any other teenage boy, and thought only of fucking. He stared at Nott. Nott stared back, a mixture of embarrassment and defiance on his face. "Well Nott," Voldmort said finally, "I see you've been enjoying her indeed."

Nott laughed. "She's been enjoying me too."

Voldemort smiled. That was more like it. He enjoyed the cold arrogance of the boy. He enjoyed that Nott had been looked down on from the other Slytherins, just like the young (very young) Tom Riddle. He especially enjoyed that those same Slytherins were learning to respect Nott. It was a familiar, beloved tale to the dark Lord. He didn't need or want a son. But he could always use those in his inner circle who were sane.

"Send in the next Death Eater Theodore," the Dark Lord said, still laughing his cold laugh. "I'm sure Pansy's mind will be a delight." The boy bowed, threw a smirk in Voldemort's direction and left the room.

"You were right about that one Rodolphus," Voldemort said to the silent man at his side. "There is a lot of potential there waiting to be brought out."

"Thank you my Lord," Rodolphus rasped. "Master, if I may ask…" he started nervously.

Voldemort was still amused enough to wave a hand at Rodolphus, urging him on.

"When will you be torturing the girl for information on Potter?" the gleam in Rodolphus's eye couldn't be hid.

"There is no point," Voldemort said, coldly. With Rodolphus and Bellatrix, it was always torture. It was rather disappointing, how all of his Death Eaters, save a select few, only thought of torture or fucking. There were far more interesting things, like knowledge. And power.

"What do you mean, my lord?" Rodolphus asked tentatively.

"She knows nothing," Voldemort told him, "Potter knows nothing. The fool, Dumbledore, has made sure of that. She can tell us nothing. She is already serving her purpose."

"What is that purpose, my lord?" Rodolphus said, looking confused.

"So inquisitive today, Rodolphus," Voldemort said, his voice hinting at something ominous.

"I—I'm so sorry my lord," Rodolphus stammered, "I—I did—didn't mean to-""

Voldemort waved one of his spidery hands again, silencing Lestrange.

"Quite obviously, Rodolphus, she is bait."

* * *

Pansy Parkinson rested for a moment on her bed, her chest heaving in her corset, Goldstein panting next to her heavily. She had worn him out already. She was always wearing boys out. She had yet to find one who could keep up with her. She sat up, pushing Henry Dukes down on the bed. She slid on top of him and they both moaned. He at least, took longer to wear out than any other boy before. She had trained him well. She moved violently on top of Dukes, the bed rocking rapidly. Goldstein watched them, preparing himself to take over when Pansy was through Dukes.

Merlin, her life was almost perfect. Two boys to do whatever to her, whenever she wanted it. Two boys and neither said a word against her massive appetite. Neither refused to do what she asked them to do. Dukes cries grew louder beneath her. Pansy's sense of triumph grew. They had hated her and feared her yes, and they still did, but now they loved her too. Now they wanted it. Now they _begged _for it. Now she wasn't shamed for her…appetites. Violence had always made it grow, and now all she knew was violence. So now, all she knew was sex. Pansy's gasps increased. All she was missing in her life was Theodore. She had a knack for picking out the secret freaks, and she was sure Nott was one. It was all just waiting to be brought out. She moved harder on Dukes, thinking of Theo. Thinking of- there was a bang on her door. Pansy ignored it. The boys glanced quickly in that direction than looked back at her.

"Ignore it," Pansy ground out, "ignore—" someone banged on the door louder. Pansy snarled in frustration.

"Parkinson!" Flint's voice yelled from outside her door. He banged so loud her door shook. "Parkinson!"

Pansy vaulted off of the bed in a rage. Dukes gave a noise of disappointment. Pansy yanked on a pair of panties and stormed over to the door cleaning herself no further. She flung it open. Flint stared at the picture she made. Her hair was a sweaty mess. Her makeup smeared on her face. She probably smelled. He glanced behind her where Dukes and Goldstein made no move to cover their nudity. Good. They had learned. He didn't look surprised, or disgusted. He just looked angry, as usual.

"When are we killing him?" he growled without preamble.

"Are you bloody joking?" Pansy hissed. "That, _that_—is what you interrupted me for? A Montague death watch?"

Flint shrugged. "You didn't have to stop. We could discuss it while you work."

Pansy stopped in her planned admonishment and considered it briefly. No. Flint was too ugly. "I told you," Pansy said, "we have to wait until the time is right. He's in favor now. You two just had a big fight a week ago. Everyone would know it was you. I know it's not your strong suit Flint, but try and think a little."  
"But every day she's with him," Flint said. "I can't fucking stand it. Merlin knows what he's doing to her."

"He's probably fucking her," Pansy shrugged. "What else?"

"He can't," Flint said, sounding almost anguished, "he can't."

"Oh calm down Flint," Pansy snorted, "he's fucking her _now_. You'll fuck her last. And best. She won't even remember him."

Pansy knew this was a lie. She hated him, but Montague was annoyingly attractive. Flint looked like a troll and on ogre had mated.

"I've got to kill him," Flint growled, "and save Katie."

Pansy heard Goldstein snort on the bed. Flint luckily, did not.

"Think, Flint," Pansy sighed again, "if you kill Montague now," she said slowly, as if she were speaking to a child, "they'll know it's you. They'll know it's you, so they'll give Bell to someone else. You won't get a reward. And maybe Warrington will get her next. He likes her tits too."

"That sloth fucker," growled Flint, "he's worse than Montague."

"Exactly," Pansy said slowly, patiently. So calm yourself. We've got a big mission coming up in a few weeks, don't we?"

"Yeah," Flint said grudgingly.

"So avoid public confrontations with Montague for awhile. Then, during the mission, if a stray curse gets thrown his way…"

"Or a stray knife," Flint rasped.

"Or a stray knife," Pansy agreed. "Now if you don't mind, I was in the middle of something," she slammed the door in Flint's brooding face and stripped of her panties again with a disgusted sigh.

"What a dolt," Goldstein said conversationally.

"Entirely," Pansy said, "now Mudbloods, you know not to repeat a word of what you just heard?"

"Of course master," the chorused.

"Good," Pansy purred, "or I might have to replace you," she said as she crawled up the bed again to Dukes, "and I'd really hate to do that," she said with a moan as she sank back onto him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: In which Old Man McGinty puts up a fight**

** Aidan Montague's quarters**

** 1:30 AM**

** One week later**

Katie lay on her side, her legs curled next to her. It was dark and unlit in the room, except for the fire slowly dying on the other side of the room, but she could tell by his heavy breathing that Montague was asleep next to her. His right arm was slung across her body, his legs tangled in hers. She could feel all of his perfect, annoying muscles against her back, where he was pressing up against her. His breath was blowing on her neck from where his face was buried. He slept like a baby, while Katie thought. She couldn't see how she would be able to kill him. The curse on her would kill her first. And besides, Montague was the only thing keeping her from Flint. But she didn't know how she could convince him to help her escape either.

Montague sighed in his sleep and pulled her tighter. Another brilliant idea of hers, Katie thought with a tinge of sarcasm. After Montague had faced down Flint for her, she had crawled into bed with him that night and begged him to hold her. She was scared of Flint, she had said. Only Montague protected her, she whimpered. He had eaten it up. Apparently, Montague had a secret passion for being thought of as heroic. As a big, manly protector. Idiot. Clearly he didn't know her at all. He had wrapped himself up with her every night since, sleeping like the dead. Sleeping, and nothing else. Nothing else but a present in his pants every morning that he did nothing with her about, filling Katie with relief and confusion. She knew what she had to do but this was as far as she could make herself go. Katie sighed quietly. She had to step it up. She had to make him love her. And then, she might be able to get out of this alive.

Katie forced herself to grab Montague's slack hand from where it was dangling and move it to her bare stomach. She had shifted so much that her night clothes had ridden up around her waist. She closed her eyes tightly. He was Oliver. Oliver Wood was her boyfriend, and they lived together, and he loved her and was holding her and touching her bare body while he—Katie's eyes flew open. Montague was awake. He was breathing heavily against her still, but now erratically. His hand moved slowly on her stomach on its own.

"What happened to the rest of your clothes, Bell?" He murmured in her ear. He couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to move his hand higher or lower to her skimpy underwear that he seemed to like so much.

"They're still on," Katie said after a moment, "they've just moved around. It's hot in here."

"Yeah it is," Montague said, raggedly, his hand grabbing the fabric where it was bunched around her waist. He started moving the fabric up. "Want me to cool you off?"

Katie tried to control her racing heart and sweaty palms. Oliver, she reminded herself, it's Oliver. You love him. Montague seemed to sense her hesitation and stopped her nightgown temporarily in its northward journey. Katie felt his lips against her neck. He pushed the collar down as low around her neck as it could go, opening up an expanse of her skin. He started kissing her neck slowly. Katie's pulse sped up further, against her will. He could feel it in her neck, she was sure. And he was probably coming to the completely wrong conclusion as to why. He kissed her more forcefully, his hands grabbing and rubbing up her legs, her stomach.

Oliver, Katie thought desperately, he's Oliver. It's Oliver and he finally noticed you, and he knows what he's doing. Katie's eyes were closed tightly again. He _really_ knows what he's doing, Katie thought. She was surprised Oliver knew how to kiss and touch like this. It felt quite good. Very good. Oliver was amazingly good at this sort of thing. She sighed quietly as she pictured his face the day he'd given her the chocolate raspberry almond crunch bar on her birthday. She had refused to eat that thing until it started growing mold and Angelina threw it out despite Katie's protests. Oliver responded eagerly to her sigh, moving his mouth along her neck, his hands travelling north and brushing her breasts. Katie sighed again. Yes, this was what she had always wanted. Oliver touching her and kissing her and—

"Merlin, you're so beautiful Bell," the boy touching her sighed against her and Katie's eyes flew open. She couldn't pretend he was Oliver when Montague insisted on talking. And calling her _Bell. _Oliver would never call her Bell. He never had. He never would. Katie felt sick as Montague's hands grasped her breasts more firmly, rubbing her and rubbing himself against her.

"So fucking beautiful," he muttered quietly, almost to himself.

Katie felt a lump forming in her throat. Oliver was never going to touch her. It was always going to be horrible Slytherin boys who wanted her while she pined over unattainable good guys. Why Slytherins? What was it always Slytherins? She had never kissed or touched anyone but stupid fucking Slytherins. Tears began to well in her eyes. Montague was borderline panting he was so excited. She could feel against her back how very excited he was. She tried to stop crying and found that she couldn't. Montague travelled up her neck onto her cheek. He turned her face toward him and kissed her slowly. It was a good kiss, Katie thought. A very good kiss. Surprisingly sweet. Montague's tongue slipped into her mouth and he moaned. He moved his hands to her face as Katie squeezed her eyes shut and frantically tried see Oliver's face again. Montague froze, his left hand holding her face, and moved away slightly.

"Bell," he said slowly, "are you crying?"

Katie stayed silent, not trusting her voice.

"Merlin, Bell, are you?" Montague asked, more urgently.

"No," Katie choked out.

"Bloody hell, you _are_," Montague said, sounding horrified.

He moved further away so he could look at her. Katie attempted to look away from him but he firmly grasped her chin, and made her look at him. His eyebrows were contracted downward in the middle of his face and he was frowning. He rubbed at her cheek with a thumb and it came away wet.

"Fuck," he swore sitting up, looking away from her.

Katie felt the tears start to flow harder. She gave a little sob, rubbing at her face.

"Fuck, Bell," Montague repeatedly violently, looking back at her as she started to shake slightly with sobs. He reached over and yanked her nightdress down, covering her completely again. "Were you crying the whole time?"

Katie shook her head.

Montague rubbed his mouth. "I'm not a fucking rapist Bell. What the hell were you doing?"

Pretending you were Oliver Wood, Katie thought miserably as she cried harder. Trying to make you love me.

"Well?" Montague demanded. "I'm not _Warrington._ I'm not _Flint_. What were you _doing_?"

"What was _I_ doing?" Katie choked out. "You were the one kissing_ me_."

"Yeah but—" Montague scratched at his perfectly formed arms, "but you were like…putting my hands on you and rubbing on me…and…moaning and stuff." He scratched harder, looking uncomfortable. "I thought you liked it."

"I told you," Katie said, as her tears finally stopped and replaced with a feeling of numbness, "I'm trying to stay alive."

"Fuck, Bell," Montague exploded for a third time, "I don't want to force myself on you. Don't ever fucking do that again."

"Okay," Katie said numbly, still looking at the ceiling.

"I'm not a fucking monster Bell. Is that what you think of me?"

"No," said Katie mechanically.

_Yes,_ her mind whispered.

"How were you even…" Montague began helplessly. "I mean, that was pretty convincing Bell. How did you…" he paused. "Bloody hell, were you pretending I was Wood?"

Katie gave a short burst of laughter at the ceiling. God, she was transparent.

"Merlin, you _were_," Montague said, sounding a combination of horrified and amused.

"So?" Katie said sourly. Such an ugly ceiling in here. Not like Gryffindor tower.

"Bell," Montague said. She ignored him. "Bell, _look at me._" She turned her head. "Don't ever fucking do that again."

"I said I wouldn't," she said mulishly.

Montague stared at her. "Well, I mean…you can do that again Bell. Just don't ever do that and pretend that I'm Wood. Don't ever do that if you don't want it."

"I won't," she repeated.

"I mean…" a bit of Montague's arrogance returned, "I do want you to do that. But only if you want to."

"Okay," she parroted again, "but on one condition."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Don't ever call me Bell during any…anything like that. It ruins it completely."

Montague stared at her, then smiled. It only made him more irritatingly handsome.

"Deal."

* * *

**Dorset, England**

Oliver Wood sat on the edge of his dirty, unmade bed, his shoulders hunched forward, forearms resting on his thighs. He stared sightlessly at his carpet, his Puddlemere United uniform half on him, half on the floor. He had had a horrible practice, letting in almost every goal as the coach of Puddlemere United, Branderton Squilbeton became increasing shrill as he screamed at Oliver. He didn't care. It was the first time in his life he didn't care about Quidditch. It was a moment no one, least of all Oliver, thought would ever come. In his hands, he held a bar of chocolate raspberry almond crunch bar that he was slowly turning over and over. He had been walking by Honeydukes's Dorset location when he had spotted a display of chocolates. On the side of the display, the bright pink wrapper on chocolate raspberry almond crunch bar had caught his eye and he had stared at it, transfixed.

"I can't believe it," a voice squealed behind him, "are you—"

"It is!" a second voice squealed, even more gratingly, "it _is_ him!"

Oliver ignored them and continued to stare at the chocolate.

"Excuse me," the first voice giggled, "excuse me, but are you Oliver Wood?"

"We're the biggest fans!" the second voice enthused, and Oliver could see the reflection of two very attractive, very buxom witches, one dark haired and the other with hair the exact shade of blonde as Katie Bell's.

"Thanks," Oliver heard himself mutter robotically polite, "for your support."

"I'm Marissa," the brunette giggled, "and this is Evie," she giggled again, and a sharp pain stabbed between Oliver's eyes. "Evie has a thing for keepers," Marissa giggled in a stage whisper. The pain stabbed sharper.

"_Marissa_," the blonde somehow squealed while giggling at the same time, drawing out the name into seventeen syllables.

Oliver said nothing, but continued to stare at the chocolate.

"We're going out later," Marissa said, attempting to sound suggestive, "if you want to join us."

The pain grew yet more in Oliver's head.

"We have all night to have fun," Evie said, moving from suggestive to desperate in one fell swoop.

Oliver felt his eyes traitorously welling up as he stared at Katie Bell's favorite chocolate bar.

"I've got things to do," Oliver choked out, "important things," and he took every bar of chocolate raspberry almond crunch bar off the display and walked away from his groupies to the counter.

"Wow," he dimly heard Marissa say, "he must really love chocolate."

Oliver flipped the bar slowly in his hands a few more times, then stood up slowly, walking to his dresser. Around the edges of his mirror were a few messily spellotaped up pictures of his family, friends, and a picture of him and Gwenog Jones. His favorite picture though, was the one in the middle. Oliver was weeping freely in the picture, his arms around George Weasley and Angelina Johnson. Katie, Fred, and Alicia were jumping up and down and cheering, and Harry Potter was hoisting the Quidditch trophy aloft in the air.

Oliver looked at their faces in the picture. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen any of them look happier than they did in that picture. Katie's face was glowing with joy, her smile practically splitting her face into two. She would never look that happy again, Oliver thought. Never. He thought again, for what had to have been the billionth time, that this was all his fault. Katie had told him how Flint had polyjuiced into Oliver and she had admitted that they had kissed. Oliver was often very dense, but even he had known what her florescent cheeks had told him when she admitted to what had happened. Oliver had felt sorry for her, as simple as that. She was only fifteen at the time, and he didn't think of her that way, and it had embarrassed him as well as her, and he hadn't told anyone about it because she had begged him. It was the worst mistake of Oliver's life, and Katie was paying for it every day. As Oliver stared at Katie's ecstatic face, her favorite chocolate bar slowly melting in his hand, he made a promise to her. A promise to make amends for his mistakes. He would find her. He would save her from Marcus Flint. And he would try his best to make her as happy as she looked in that picture.

* * *

**Greenock, Scotland**

** 2:41 AM**

Theo awkwardly dodged another curse, and smashed into a stone fountain of ugly grindylows.

"Fuck," he swore loudly, as a gash opened upon his knee, trickling blood.

"Get out of here, you death eater scum!" bellowed the elderly owner of the house that they had been assigned to loot. The task had proved harder to complete than they thought it would be, to say the least.

"I'll give the same to you that I gave to this fat lump!" the old man screamed, and he kicked Crabbe's prone form next to him.

Montague took refuge behind the downed fountain next to Theo. "Well, this is going great," he said conversationally. "We didn't steal any snorkack toenails, unicorn horns, or elf fingers, Crabbe might be dead, Malfoy's whimpering somewhere in a fetal ball, and I'm pretty sure Flint's tried to kill me twice already."

"What?" Theo asked, astonished, as they watched Old Man McGinty drag Malfoy's squealing form out of his house by his arm. "Are you sure?"

"Well," Montague said grimly, "he 'accidentally' pushed me down the stairs when we were running from the yelling lunatic," Montague gestured at Old Man McGinty, who was now slapping Malfoy on the face with a stash of his unicorn hides while Malfoy begged for mercy, "then," Montague continued, "when he helped me up off the ground he 'accidentally' stepped on my wand," Aidan held up the broken halves of his dragon heartstring filled wand. "And then he pushed me at Old Man McGinty."

Malfoy squealed when he received a vial of dragon's piss to the head. Aidan and Theo sighed simultaneously.

"Who knew 170 year old potion's ingredient hoarders would put up such a fight?" Theo asked rhetorically.

"Forget that," Aidan snapped, "what about Flint's attempted murder of me?"

Theo raised an eyebrow. "You're being paranoid," he said, risking a glimpse from around the nearest stone grindylow. "I can't believe all of the new recruits are unconscious already," he sighed.

"I'm _not_ being paranoid," Aidan snarled. "Theo, he _stepped _on my _wand _and _broke_ it during a _raid_ and then he said 'oops'."

"He said 'oops'?" Theo said, astonished. "Like he's a five year old?"

"Yes," snapped Aidan, "what I am going to do with this?" he held up his broken wand. "Beat Old Man McGinty on the head with it?"

Theo snickered. Malfoy yelped as smashed beetles were added to his hair's new paste.

"Take that!" screamed Old Man McGinty in a primal rage.

"Where the hell _is_ Flint anyway?" Theo asked.

"I dunno. Probably kicking a puppy somewhere," Aidan said distractedly. "Anyway Theo, I've been meaning to talk to you about something with Bell."

"Not now Aidan," Theo said, "we're on a raid." He didn't look at Montague intentionally. "I don't care how much you fuck her. I'm sick of hearing about it."

The brief pause before Montague laughed told Theo he'd understood. They were on a raid. These memories had a good chance of being observed.

"Sorry," Aidan said as he dodged a curse from old man Old Man McGinty. "It's just, she's really a hot piece of arse, right?"

"Salazar yes," Theo said, "want to switch sometime?"

"Fuck yes I do," Aidan said, "but I want them both at the same time."

"Great idea," Theo laughed, "two Gryffindor bitches at once."

Draco chose that moment to yell, "Nott! Montague! Get over here and help me! He's torturing me!" All this earned him was a bottle of yak's bile down his robes. "You sick monster!" Draco screamed, "This was a Malkin original!"

"Should we do something about this?" Theo asked Aidan idly.

"Fuck _Malfoy,"_ Montague said. "We need those ingredients. Seriously, where the hell is Flint?"

"Forget Flint," Theo said impatiently, "we need to take Old Man McGinty out."

"With what?" Montague snapped. "A rock and the power of my mind?" he shook his broken wand at Theo again.

"Distract him and I'll—"

Flint jumped out from behind a rose bush and hit Old Man McGinty with the Confringo curse from behind. Malfoy screamed as he was covered with organs and tissue, then fainted onto the ground.

"That works too," Aidan said after a stunned pause. Suddenly, another curse was shot from Flint's wand to the fountain where Aidan and Theo were cowering. It exploded into fifty pieces, slamming heavy stone shards into the two boys, opening up cuts all over their bodies.

"Fuck, Flint!" Aidan bellowed, spitting blood out of his mouth as he yelled, "it's us!"

Theo wiped blood out of his eyes. There was a pause.

"Sorry," Flint yelled at them, "I thought you were Aurors."

"There's no fucking Aurors here, Flint!" Aidan screamed. "Idiot!"

Theo spit out a tooth into his hand.

"Dammit, I told you," Aidan said to him.

Theo ignored him and stood up, limping over to Flint. "You need to fucking control yourself Marcus," he snapped, the pain in his body cancelling out his fear of Flint. He heard Montague limp up beside him.

"Did he even leave us any ingredients, or are they all on Malfoy's face?" Aidan inquired.

"I dunno," Theo ssaid, stepping over old man Old Man McGinty's leg and pushing his revulsion away for another time. "Let's wake up the idiots inside and look around."

They all stepped over Malfoy's prone form, an unspoken agreement to leave Draco unconscious to the last possible second between them.

They walked around the battlezone of old man Old Man McGinty's house, inspecting the potions covered new recruits.

"This one's dead," Flint grunted, dropping a blonde boy who Theo was pretty sure was a Swedish recruit whose name escaped him. He woke up the red head on the ground at his feet.

"Flint, let's get one thing fucking clear," Montague snarled, ignoring the recruits, "your attempts to kill me are both pathetic and transparent. Give it up."

Flint grunted and kicked another dead looking recruit. "_They're_ all fucking useless," he snapped, "why would I kill you when you're one of the only ones who can do anything, Montague?"

"Cause you're a fucking maniac," Aidan snarled, "and this isn't going to get you Bell. She's mine. Get over it."

Flint stood up rapidly, leaving the recruit he was bending over. "She's not yours you asshole," Flint snarled, his fists clenching, "she'll never want you."

"Yeah?" Aidan said, his eyebrows raised. "You should've seen what we were doing last night. She fucking loved it."

Flint lunged at Aidan wordlessly, like a panther, and Theo blasted them apart.

"Fucking shut up about Bell, both of you!" he yelled. "You'd think the way you two go on she's the only Mudblood slut around."

Two of the newly conscious recruits clapped enthusiastically at this comment. Everyone was sick of the Former Slytherin Quidditch Player Death Match over Katie Bell.

"Act like bloody Death Eaters and get those ingredients," Theo snapped, wiping more blood off of his face. He was glad he was angry. It was helping his performance. But he wasn't angry about them fighting over Bell and wasting time. He was angry because after all of their work, Montague was publicly talking about Katie Bell like he was in love with her or something. After a tense moment, Aidan forced a laugh.

"He is obsessed with her, isn't he? Kind of sad really Flint. She never talks about you at all."

Flint turned red.

"Aidan, go outside and get Draco and Vince," Theo ordered, "Flint, help me wake the rest of them up. The rest of you, get those ingredients. If such a sorry group of Death Eaters like you can handle it." He stormed away, wondering when he had started channeling Snape.

* * *

**Severus Snape's Death Eater Quarters**

** 6:22 PM**

** One week later**

Tracey lay curled up on her side on the stone floor of Snape's work station. She could barely move, her body was so abused internally and externally. She hadn't eaten or drunk anything but potions for what felt like days. Maybe weeks. Maybe years. She stared ahead at the unicorn horn that had fallen under Snape's work bench. Tracey wished for death. She didn't have anything left. Not even revenge. The door opened and she heard Snape tread her way. His boots broke her line of vision to the unicorn horn. Inexplicably, this bothered Tracey. She had stared at that horn for so long it felt like an old friend.

"Get up," Snape ordered her. Tracey didn't even flinch. She had moved past flinching a week ago. "Get up you lazy, stupid girl," Snape demanded.

Tracey didn't blink. Snape kicked her, hard, in the stomach, right on an old bruise. Tracey rolled but remained silent.

"Weak," Snape snarled at her. "How weak you are, Miss Davis."

Something stirred feebly inside of Tracey, then died. A blast of water hit her suddenly from Snape's wand and she reflexively spluttered for air.

"I told you to get up, Miss Davis," Snape threatened.

Tracey remained immobile, past caring about what Snape did to her at this point.

"You think you're in pain now?" Snape said, his voice lowering as it did when he was truly angry. "You think you long for death now? Things could be so much worse for you if you don't cooperate Miss Davis. I could give you to the Lestranges. They would torture you every day until your heart gave out and you died, and then they would revive you just to do it all over again."

Tracey's eyes moved for a moment, until her gaze became blank again.

"I could give you to Mulcibur," Snape continued coldly, "he likes little girls. He especially likes raping them over and over again."

Tracey's mouth twitched.

"I could give you to your good friend Pansy Parkinson," Snape said, relentless, "she hates you more than Hermione Granger now. I'm sure you remember, what Pansy does to those who anger her? I believe you helped her implement some of these things on other Mudbloods?"

Tracey looked finally at Snape, too tired to glare at him, but feeling the beginnings of anger stirring in her.

"Good," Snape said, his dark eyes fathomless, "I'm glad you remember these things at last Miss Davis, and have started to come to your senses." He threw a bundle of cloth at her on the ground. "Now put that on. We're going to Bellatrix's birthday celebration."

Tracey gave a noise of disbelief at this news.

"What?" Snape sneered at her. "You think Death Eaters don't celebrate birthdays?"

"I think_ you_ don't celebrate anything, Professor," Tracey said, her voice hoarse from all the screaming.

Snape's eyes bored into her still unmoving form. "You're right, Miss Davis," he said finally, "I find such things trite and pointless, as I'm sure the Dark Lord does. But it is a groundbreaking psychological tactic. It's called 'building morale.'"

"No need to be a smart arse," Tracey heard herself rasp, past caring about anything.

Snape blasted her again with Aguimenti and she choked.

"Watch your mouth, Miss Davis," he said icily, "and change your clothes. You smell abominably."

"Have to look good for The Dark Lord Nutcase," Tracey said, and she laughed, the noise sounding unhinged.

Snape paused, wrestling with something internally. He walked away from Tracey briskly, to his nearby workbench. He snatched a small vial filled with a purple potion, and unceremoniously crouched next to Tracey and shoved it down her throat. She sputtered violently.

Immediately, Tracey felt her body's agony lessening, her energy returning, and her ability to care about what happened to her rushing back. She sat up, rubbing a hand against her mouth.

"Now that you've come to your senses," Snape said harshly, "put on that robe. We're leaving in two minutes."

"Why do I have to change?" Tracey asked, a trifle unwisely. "Is it for…_him_?"

"Do you really think the Death Eaters throw birthday celebrations?" Snape mocked her.

"But—you just said…" Tracey said, bewildered.

"Think, Miss Davis! I thought you were smarter than this," Snape said, sounding angrier than ever. "This is an excuse to find out what we're doing with our Mudbloods."

Tracey stared at Snape. He seemed to be trying to communicate something wordlessly with her. "Why…" she began slowly, "why…sir…would…_he_…need to know what you're doing with me?"

"What does my treatment of you indicate Miss Davis?" Snape said, strangely patient.

Tracey stared at Snape. Her tired brain worked slowly. What had she talked about with Granger in the dungeon…?

Finally, she said quietly, "it indicates if you are loyal or not."

"Yes," Snape said, and his eyes gleamed, "that is what it indicates. And how have I treated you, Miss Davis?"

"Horribly," Tracey said, her mind suddenly thinking of Granger, and what was happening to her. What Theo Nott was doing with her. She had thought better of Theo than the others. She hoped, for Granger's sake, that she was right.

"And what does that mean?" Snape prompted.

"That…you're loyal to the Dark Lord," Tracey said, confused.

"Exactly," Snape said, sounding satisfied. "Remember that tonight. Remember how you should behave, if you want to remain alive."

Tracey looked closely at Snape. Was he really saying…?

Snape waved his wand and a cut opened up painfully in her cheek. Tracey yelped.

"Too slow, Miss Davis," he said, harsh again.

Tracey glared at him. No. She didn't know what she was thinking, but she was wrong. Snape was a monster. As he pulled on the plain, baggy black robes over her filthy Hogwarts uniform, her mind whirled. Hermione. Hermione would be there tonight. Hermione was the smartest witch of their generation, everyone said so. Hermione must have come up with a plan.

And Tracey felt, unbidden, hope blossoming in her chest again.


End file.
